


Ten Summers

by belwrites



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Awkwardness, camp shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-22
Updated: 2014-10-22
Packaged: 2018-02-22 03:46:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 33,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2493260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belwrites/pseuds/belwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is thirteen when he starts going to Uncle Bobby's summer camp, and when he meets his best friend, Cas Novak. Over the next ten summers, Camp Wooded Falls becomes the backdrop for friendships, romances, and drama as they move from high school to college and ultimately into adulthood. </p><p>Written for the DeanCas Big Bang 2014! Art by Cheriiart (tumblr/LJ). </p><p>Thank you to Cheriiart for the lovely artwork and to Missykitkat for beta'ing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Year One: Age 13

**Author's Note:**

> A note about time: 
> 
> This story is taking place in real time with the seasons premiering, starting in 2005 and coming up to 2014, which is why there are mentions of "that new facebook thing" and other weird seemingly anachronistic phrases.

Mary and John help Dean move into his cabin, while Sam just sits on what will be Dean’s bunk for the next seven weeks, watching. He’s still doing that thing with his thumb where he’s kind of biting it but he’s totally sucking on it. Dean motions for him to stop it because John doesn’t like it and besides, Sammy, you’re too old to still be doing that, you’re going into fourth grade for god’s sake.

 

“Okay, I think that’s it,” Mary says, looking around. “Dean, I put your shower stuff on the right, in the front, see? Try not to get the bag messy, I want to reuse it when you come home.” Dean nods. She smiles. “Sunscreen,” she said pointedly.

 

“But Mom.”

 

“No, Dean. If I get a call saying you got sunburned and you’re too miserable to be around, I will not be happy.”

 

“But it smells,” Dean whines. Mary shrugs.

 

“Aw, Mar, come on. He’ll just get all freckly,” John says, tugging at Mary’s ponytail. “Just like you.”

 

“Sunscreen, mister,” she insists. “Ignore your father. Come on, Sam, it’s time to go.” Sam hops off Dean’s bed, and leans against Dean, still half-sucking on his thumb, his other arm wrapped tight around Dean’s middle. 

 

“I’ll see you in seven weeks, Sammy,” Dean tells him. Sam nods against his chest. “Don’t mess up my high scores on anything.”

 

“’Promise,” Sam mumbles around his thumb. Mary smiles at her boys, and pulls Sam’s hand gently away from his mouth to hold it. 

 

“Take care of my boy,” Mary says, and Dean knows her voice well enough to hear the threat behind the cheery sentence. Chuck, his junior counselor, who’s welcoming kids to the cabin, laughs.

 

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Winchester, he’s gonna be fine.” Mary smiles at him. Dean can see the potential murders behind her eyes. 

 

He watches from the covered deck of the cabin as they walk up the path and out of sight, past the offices. 

 

“First time away from home?” Chuck asks. Dean nods.

 

“Bobby Singer’s my dad’s friend from high school,” Dean says. “He suggested it to my parents.”

 

“That’s good, that you have him. He’s a really nice guy,” Chuck says. Dean doesn’t need to be told that Uncle Bobby’s a nice guy. Dean knows firsthand from the shared Thanksgivings and Christmases with him and Aunt Ellen and Jo. But Chuck is right, that it’s good that Dean knows him well. When he gets homesick, he’ll have someone he knows, someone like family to him.

 

“Hey, welcome to cabin B-three!” Chuck says as a CIT guides in a scrawny dark-haired boy. “What’s your name?”

 

“Cas,” the boy answers. The CIT claps him on the shoulder.

 

“Nice to meet you, Cas, my name’s Chuck,” Chuck tells him. He looks up at the CIT. “No parents?”

 

“Nope, they sent him up with me on the train,” he replies. “I got the B-sixes, I gotta go help Frank with the twerps. You got him?”

 

“Sure thing, Gabe.” The CIT -- Gabe, Dean supposes -- grins and bounces out of the cabin. Cas looks past Chuck to Dean.

 

“Cas, why don’t you pick out a bed, and then maybe Dean can help you unpack, if you’d like?” Dean nods vigorously, taking a step forward. 

 

“Okay,” Cas says, sounding uncertain. 

 

“I’m over here,” Dean says quickly, motioning to his bed. “Aaron’s on the bunk over me, and Benny’s over there, and there are a couple guys over on those two beds but I don’t know them because they were already gone when I got here.”

 

“Is this bed free?” Cas asks, pointing to the bottom bunk perpendicular to Dean’s. Dean nods. “Do you mind?”

 

“Dude, it’s up to you.”

 

Cas drops his backpack on the bed and drags his trunk over to the side of his bed and opens it. Dean helps him put his clothes in his allotted shelves, and Chuck helps with the bedmaking because two thirteen-year-old boys don’t know how to make beds when they have mothers to do it for them. 

 

By the time they’re done, Benny and Aaron and the other four boys -- Garth, Adam, Harry, and Ed -- are coming back with Ash, the other counselor. The welcome dinner starts in twenty minutes, so they wash up, dirty from being outside, and Ash and Chuck walk the boys up to the mess hall.

 

Each cabin holds about eight to ten kids, Dean figures once they’re in the mess hall and he sees the tables, sorted by cabin. He sees Jo Harvelle, Uncle Bobby’s stepdaughter, sitting with the G-ones, talking to a redheaded girl. She catches his eye and waves enthusiastically at him. He shoots her a smile, a single wave, and she lapses right back into her conversation. 

 

“Do you know her?” Cas asks. He’s staying kind of close to Dean, but Dean doesn’t mind. He barely knows the other boys, and they seem to know each other already, especially Harry and Ed, who have only talked to only each other so far.

 

“Yeah, that’s Jo. My uncle Bobby’s the owner of the camp, that’s his stepdaughter.”

 

“Oh. You’ve been here then?” Cas replies as they sit at their assigned table.

 

“Nope. First year. You?”

 

“First year,” Cas nods. 

 

After dinner is served -- cafeteria-style, but they have to wait for their cabin to be called -- Bobby stands up and grabs a microphone. 

 

“Welcome to Camp Wooded Falls. I’m sure none of you are listening to me because you’re stuffing your faces, but I’ll talk anyway.” The older tables laugh. Dean and Cas look around, Dean’s cheeks puffed out from all the food he’s stuffed into his mouth. “Welcome to our new campers -- we have, not counting our youngest group, fifteen new campers, and thirty-five counting them. To our returning counselors and CITs, welcome back. You’ve all heard this speech before. Too bad, you’re listening to it again.” The older campers laugh again. “Rules: no one goes in the forest without a counselor with them. CITs, this goes for you, too.” Bobby pauses to look pointedly over to one of the CITs. Dean follows his line of vision and realizes it’s Gabe, the CIT who came by with Cas.

 

“Of course he looked at him,” Dean hears Cas mutter. 

 

“I don’t care how many times it gets played at late-night truth or dare, absolutely no one jumps in the lake, naked or clothed, after sunset.” The older tables laugh again, except this time it’s more of a snicker. Dean thinks he sees Gabe smirking and nodding to someone, part of some in-joke Dean wonders if he’ll have, if he makes it as far as Gabe has.

 

“Finally, no boys are supposed to be in girl cabins, and no girls are supposed to be in boy cabins. Keep your hands to yourselves, kids.” The older tables are more subtle about their snickering -- and, possibly, about their distaste in this final rule. “Okay, breakfast at eight tomorrow. Counselors, give your campers enough time to at least get dressed before then. Activities at nine. We’ll be roasting marshmallows at the fire pits at nine, pajamas are always welcome!”

 

Bobby sits with the grownups, the real grownups, like Ellen, at a table in the front of the mess hall. Dean watches him sit next to her, and when Bobby looks up, he winks at him, just once, before lapsing into conversation with Ellen and the other adults that are with him.

 

“So where are you from?” Dean asks, turning to Cas. Cas has half a roll in his mouth, so he holds up one finger to tell Dean to wait, and Dean does.

 

“Massachusetts. I live in Concord. You?” 

 

“Kansas. Town called Lawrence,” Dean says, picking up a third of a corn on the cob. “My mom’s from there. She and my dad moved there after they got married.”

 

“Where’s your dad from?”

 

“He grew up with Uncle Bobby in South Dakota. By the time they were married, Bobby was living here, starting his summer camp project. Dad always said it was the perfect thing for him to do since he likes outdoors and kids.”

 

“Besides Jo, does he have any?” Cas asks. Dean shakes his head.

 

“Aunt Karen died before me and Sam were born,” Dean says around a mouthful of corn. “She was pregnant, but she got sick.”

 

* * *

Seven a.m. wake-up calls are the absolute worst, Dean decides. 

 

Seventies rock music is blaring from the loudspeaker system set up throughout the camp. It’s the same music John listens to, which is the only reason Dean knows it, and he hums along, begrudgingly, as he trudges into the bathroom to brush his teeth. 

 

Cas meets him at the sink when he’s rinsing his mouth, rubbing one eye, his hair standing up all over. Dean grins at him.

 

“Nice hair.”

 

“Mm, shut up,” Cas says, stretching. 

 

“Are you done?” Dean turns and sees Ed and Harry, grumpy and spectacled, standing in front of him. “Some of us would like a turn at the sink, Dean.”

 

“Sorry,” Dean says, collecting his toiletries. “I was just leaving.”

 

“I bet,” one of them, Dean thinks it’s Ed, says. Dean cocks an eyebrow at him. He tries to do it right back, but ends up just wiggling his eyebrows at him. Dean rolls his eyes and walks past them, leaving Cas to deal with them and fight over who gets the sink next. 

 

Bobby’s camp specializes in slightly-below-average food and a variety of activities for campers to participate in over the course of the six weeks they’re at Camp Wooded Falls. They have a drama program that puts on a full-blown musical at the end of the six weeks, which Dean has absolutely no interest in. There are art classes, for drawing and painting and printmaking and pottery and even photography, which has cameras for campers to use if they don’t have their own. That doesn’t sound too bad in Dean’s mind. There’s also carpentry, which Dean would be so totally all over. The same could be said for the autobody class, taught by Bobby himself, except that’s only open to the sixes and sevens, so Dean will have to wait. 

 

After breakfast, the campers get their assignment sheets. Along with the application for camp, they have to rank the activities on a scale of one to fifteen, fifteen being least interested and one being most. Based on these rankings, they get a five-day schedule that they’ll follow for the next six weeks, each day with three or four activities. The top choice activity, which ends up being the camper’s “major,” meets every day for longer than the other activities. 

 

Dean’s major is woodworking. Cas’ major is photography. But, upon comparing schedules, they see that they have the same swim activity time on Mondays, the same art on Wednesdays, the same music and the same free time on Thursdays, and the same volleyball on Fridays.

 

“Hey, this is great. You two are the new kids in the cabin. You can spend time together and learn about the camp during all your activities together,” Chuck says when he sees the coincidences in their schedules. “Dean, do you know where the wood shop is?”

 

“Yeah, it’s up the hill, right?”

 

“Yep. Cas? Photography studio?”

 

“I need a little help,” Cas admits. “I’m not great with directions.”

 

“No problem.” Chuck gets up from the table and waits for Dean and Cas to extricate themselves from the bench. 

 

“See you at lunch, Dean,” Cas says.

 

“Yeah, see you, Cas.”

 

* * *

“How’s it going, Dean?” 

 

Bobby and Ellen insisted that they steal Dean for a night. The Harvelle-Singers have a house, just off the camp property lines. Jo stays on the campground for the duration of the camp, but Ellen and Bobby live there full-time. Tonight, about two weeks into camp, Bobby and Ellen are giving Dean real food, and Jo comes along for a little family dinner night. Dean feels bad about leaving Cas behind, and Aaron and Benny, who have become his friends, too. Garth keeps to himself more than anything. Ed and Harry have their own group of friends in the other age groups, and they’re jerks anyway so Dean doesn’t much care.

 

“I really like it,” Dean says honestly. 

 

“Yeah?” Bobby says, chopping an onion for the meal Ellen’s preparing. “You don’t have to lie to me, boy, I ain’t your mother.”

 

“No, I’m having a lot of fun. I made friends, I’m building stuff, I’m having fun.”

 

“Who?”

 

“Who what?”

 

“Who are your friends?”

 

“Cas Novak, Aaron Bass, and Benny LaFitte,” Dean rattles off the names proudly. 

 

“I know Aaron and Benny. Don’t know Cas Novak, though.”

 

“He’s new, Bobby,” Jo says, hopping up to sit on the counter. “He’s Gabe-the-CIT’s brother.”

 

“Oh,” Bobby replies, and the way he says it makes Dean think he thinks Cas is like Gabe.

 

“Cas is really nice, Uncle Bobby,” Dean says quickly. “He’s the best-behaved one in the cabin.”

 

“Knowing Zeddmore and Spangler, that’s not hard to believe,” Bobby says. “Why aren’t you the best behaved? You’re basically the boss’ kid, for crying out loud.”

 

“Bobby, leave him alone, he’s John’s son,” Ellen says, swatting him. “Joanna Beth, you get down from there.”

 

Ellen cooks almost as good as Mary, Dean thinks. It’s a nice change from the camp food, anyway. After dinner, Bobby takes Jo and Dean back to their cabins. Cas is reading, sprawled out over the top of his sheets. 

 

“How was dinner?” Cas asks, sitting up when Dean flops onto the bed.

 

“I’m never gonna eat again.”

 

“That good?”

 

“It was real food, Cas. Aunt Ellen made real food.”

 

“Must’ve been nice.”

 

“I think Jo cried a little bit,” Dean says, rolling over and propping himself up on his elbows. “How was evening activity?”

 

“We had smores. Gabe sang. It was horrible.”

 

“He’s your brother, of course you thought it was horrible.”

 

* * *

Dean’s favorite day of the week is Thursday. After carpentry, he has volleyball with Cas. They always play on the same side, even though Dean’s absolutely awful at it, and Cas is really good. Then they have lunch together. After lunch Dean has more carpentry and Cas has more photography, but after that they have the rest of the afternoon, up till dinner, to hang out with each other. They mostly hang out on the shore of the lake. Sometimes they go in it and swim, but mostly Cas sits on the shore and reads while Dean skips rocks, avoiding other campers swimming and on jetskis. 

 

By the end of the seven weeks, Dean’s made a decent-looking table, a box for Mary, a shelf for John, and a desk organizer for Sam, who is a bit OCD about his school supplies. Cas has a decent portfolio of nature photographs, and a few pictures of the boys in his cabin. He prints an extra of a picture Dean took of him at the lake, reading a book with his sunglasses on, and an extra of the one he took of Dean skipping rocks. He gives both of them to Dean. Dean gives him a picture frame that he made and stained himself. 

 

“Gabe says we should write to each other,” Cas says on the last day while they’re packing. “He writes to his camp friends during the year.”

 

“Okay,” Dean says. He grabs Cas’ copy of The Catcher in the Rye and flips to the empty page at the beginning and scrawls his first and last name and home address on it and hands it back to Cas.

 

“That’s not what I meant,” Cas says dryly.

 

“Well now you have it and you won’t lose it,” Dean shrugs. “It’s your favorite book.”

 

“Well, what am I supposed to write on?”

 

“The back of your photo. Like a signature.” Cas looks at him, eyebrows raised and eyelids half-closed, exasperated, but takes the photo and writes his information down anyway. Dean reads it.

 

“Castiel,” he says.

 

“Yeah, I know,” Cas replies.

 

“No, it’s a good name. Bet no one else in your class has it.”

 

* * *

“Uncle Bobby told us you were having a great time. Now that he’s not here, you can be honest, you missed your mommy, right?” Mary says, squeezing him when the Winchesters get to the cabin to get Dean.

 

“Yes, Mom, I was crushed.”

 

“He cried himself to sleep every night,” Cas says sarcastically. Mary looks up.

 

“What’s your name?”

 

“Mom, this is Cas,” Dean says. “He was new this year too.”

 

“Oh, good, you had someone,” Mary says. “Because I was worried --”

 

“Mary, calm down, Bobby said he was fine. Nice to meet you, Cas, I’m Dean’s dad,” John says, holding out a hand for him to shake, which Cas does.

 

“And this is Sammy,” Dean says, tugging Sam out from behind Mary. “He’s too young for camp.”

 

“Didn’t wanna go anyway. I was an only child for six weeks. It was awesome,” Sam says. 

 

“Cas, are your parents coming?”

 

“No, Mrs. Winchester. My brother Gabe’s a CIT, so he’s taking me home.” Mary frowns. 

 

“That’s too bad,” she says, and she sounds sorry for him.

 

“No, it’s okay.” Mary looks at him for a long time, and then turns her attention to Dean.

 

“Are you packed?”

 

“Uh-huh, I’m ready.”

 

“Okay. Say goodbye to everyone, and let’s get going, we got a long drive,” John says. Dean nods and turns to Cas.

 

“I’ll write as soon as I’m home,” Dean promises.

 

“Okay,” Cas says. Dean wraps his arms around Cas’ shoulders, and Cas, being Cas, isn’t sure how to respond at first, but settles on patting Dean kind of awkwardly on his back. 

 

“I’ll see you next summer, yeah?”

 

“Yeah.”


	2. Year Two: Age 14

“And if your long pants get too short, I packed an extra in here, see?”

“Mom,” Dean whines, his voice cracking at the end. Mary stands up, both hands on her hips.

“Don’t whine at me, Dean, you’re growing like a weed. I’m going to come back in seven weeks and you’ll be taller than your father,” she states. Victor, this year’s head counselor for the B-fours, tries to suppress a laugh, and fails.

“You too?” Dean turns around. Cas is standing here with a trunk, Gabe right behind him with Cas’ ratty old backpack. Cas is tall now, taller than Dean, and he’s starting to fill out, if the strain of his T-shirt across his shoulders says anything.

Dean doesn’t know why he’s staring at Cas’ shoulders.

“Cas!” Cas drops his trunk so he can hug Dean.

“Okay, dudes, move, heavy backpack. Cassy brought his entire library with him,” Gabe says, knocking them out of the way. “I’m picking your bed for you.”

“I want the one next to Dean,” Cas says, pulling out of the hug. Gabe cocks an eyebrow.

“How ‘bout on top?” Gabe says, smirking.

“Gabe,” Cas moans. Gabe just cackles and hoists the backpack onto the top bunk above Dean’s bed.

“Dean, you’re in charge of him,” he says. “I got the B-twos this summer, I gotta go make sure they’re not killing each other yet.”

“Help me unpack?” Cas says, and Dean nods, pulling Cas’ backpack down and letting it drop to the floor when he realizes it’s actually much heavier than he thought.

“Jesus, Cas, what’ve you got in here?” Dean says, unzipping it to find book after book.

“I need to do a lot of summer reading for high school,” Cas says, unapologetic.

“Right, because you’re going to that prep school,” Dean says, looking at the book covers.

“They have a very rigorous curriculum,” Cas says, sounding like a brochure for the Middlesex School. “And a very impressive matriculation list.”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“Where all their students go to college.”

“We’re not even freshmen yet, dude. Slow down,” Dean says, and Cas cracks a smile. “Where are your sheets?”

“In the bottom of the trunk.”

“Why the hell would you pack them at the bottom? What’s wrong with you,” Dean says, handing Cas piles of clothes to get the sheets. “Please tell me you at least know how to make a bed, now.”

* * *

Dean doesn’t pretend he doesn’t see the differences in Cas now and Cas from last year. Cas last year was his height, if not a little shorter, and, well, a little pudgy. Cas this year is nearly as tall as Mary, and he’s not soft anymore. He’s not particularly muscular -- as far as Dean can tell just from looking at him, fully clothed mind you -- but he’s not skinny, either. He’s -- he’s healthy, and isn’t that a stupid way to describe someone, Dean thinks. But it’s weird, having to look up when he wants to make eye contact. Dean’s just passing five foot three now, and he knows that four or five inches isn’t a lot, but it still bothers him. It especially bothers him that Cas doesn’t crack when he talks, and Dean squeaks like a boardwalk rollercoaster.

However, Cas is either oblivious or choosing to ignore how hard puberty has hit him and how hard it hasn’t hit Dean. And for that, Dean is, of course, grateful. They’ve fallen back into their friendship as if last summer were just two weeks ago, as if the school year were nothing more than a Christmas break. Ash barely has to reprimand them because Cas makes sure they don’t get in trouble. At least, he makes sure they don’t get caught, and that’s a very important distinction for Dean, who’s very pleased with how far Cas has come over the past year with regard to sneaking around the rules.

“Who’s the girl with Gabe?” Dean asks one night at dinner. Gabe isn’t sitting with the B-twos tonight. Instead, he’s at the far end of the “adult” table, with an Indian girl sitting opposite, holding her hand and laughing while they have dinner together.

“That’s Kali. I didn’t know she was visiting,” Cas says thoughtfully. “She’s his girlfriend. They went to high school together. They’re going to college far away from each other.”

“That sucks,” Dean says. “Are they gonna stay together?”

“They want to. Gabe was telling me about it before we left. He really thinks she’s the one.”

“Really?”

“Mike told him to get his head out of his ass and get himself available before he goes to college, but Mike’s an asshole, so Gabe doesn’t listen to him very often,” Cas says, going back to his food. “I should say hi after dinner. You can come, too, if you want. She’s nice.”

* * *

Dean and Cas have the same free time again this year, except it’s on Friday afternoons. They take up residence at their spot on the lake, Cas with one of his many summer reading books, Dean with his rock-skipping record to beat.

“What’s it about?”

“Animal Farm?”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Dean says, skipping a rock three times before it sinks.

“Well, it’s about farm animals, who are being led by these pigs who want to overthrow the humans because they’re ‘parasites,’ and the whole thing is really a metaphor for the Russian Revolution and -- wait, isn’t this on your reading list?”

“How does it end?” Dean deflects.

“I don’t know, I’m not done with it. Aren’t you supposed to be reading this?”

“I don’t really care about farm animals representing a big historical metaphor,” Dean says, skipping a rock twice. “Now, Vonnegut, on the other hand --”

“You’ve read Vonnegut?”

“I like his writing style.”

“Did you understand any of it?”

“I have a few questions,” Dean admits. Cas rolls his eyes and gets back to his book. “How’s photography this year?”

“They’re letting me shoot with film,” Cas says, underlining something. He would be the kid to underline things, Dean thinks. “I’m being very careful about what I shoot.”

“More nature?”

“I was thinking about asking you to help, actually,” Cas says, turning a page. “Ellen said I should try doing a proper photo shoot with a person as a model and everything. Charlie in costuming said she’d be happy to help if I wanted hair, and makeup, and everything.”

“You want me to be your model?”

“Dean, you’ve got a very nice face to photograph. And Ellen is under the impression that you are, and I quote, ‘an enormous hunk.’” Dean feels his ears turn pink.

* * *

“Would you please just hold still? Jeez, kid,” Charlie admonishes, dabbing at Dean’s face with a makeup sponge. “I just wanna cover this sunburn, okay? Stop it.”

“’M not sunburned, Charlie, knock it off,” Dean says, swatting her hand away. She grabs his wrist and pins it to the arm of the chair he’s sitting in, and dabs at his face once more.

“Done. Was that so painful?” she asks, putting the sponge back on the counter beside her and looking at him in the mirror. His newly acquired sunburn across his forehead is gone, and he looks almost tanned. It’s not bad, actually, but he’s not about to tell her that. “How’s your hair? Does it feel droopy anywhere?”

“No, Charlie, it’s fine,” Dean says grumpily, getting out of the chair. She holds up her hands in surrender.

“Fine, fine, just trying to help.”

“Char, you cause more problems than you fix when you say that, what are you -- oh, hey, Dean,” Dorothy stops short in the doorway. She’s the director of the camp musical, so she and Charlie work closely together every summer.

“Be nice! I just fixed Dean’s sunburn, see?” Dorothy gets closer and inspects his face.

“It looks good; nice job.”

“Thank you for your unwavering support,” Charlie says, making a face.

“Hey, I just complimented you, be nice!” Dorothy tugs at her hair lightly. “Let me know when you wanna talk costumes for the show, I have some ideas.”

“Dinner?”

“Okay.” Dorothy smiles at her, and Dean wonders why she looks like she’s trying to hide how...excited (Dean thinks it’s excitement) she is about dinner with Charlie.

“So you and Cas are pretty good friends, huh?” Charlie says, walking him out of the dressing room.

“We’re pen pals the rest of the year,” Dean tells her.

“Oh, that’s awesome! That’s great that you guys stay in touch. I always tried when I went to camp but we always stopped, like, halfway through the year. We always said we’d do better at the end of the summer, but we were pretty bad at it.”

“Did you go to camp here?”

“Mmhm. With Dot, actually,” Charlie says, motioning back towards Dorothy. “It’s where we met.”

“Are you two, like, a thing?” Dean says, suddenly getting it.

“Five years strong,” Charlie says proudly. “Her parents love me.”

Cas is waiting for Dean outside the drama building with his camera. “See you later, Dean,” Charlie says, tapping him twice on the shoulder before turning and going back inside.

“Charlie did great covering your sunburn,” Cas says, looking at Dean’s forehead.

“Yeah, Dorothy was impressed.”

“Dorothy likes everything Charlie does, even if she won’t admit it,” Cas says. “My cousin Anna does the shows. She says Dorothy gets all moony-eyed whenever Charlie does something to help with rehearsals or the performance.”

“I didn’t know they were a thing,” Dean says.

“It’s like the worst kept secret at camp, how did you not know?” Cas says. Dean shrugs. “Well, you are clueless.”

“Excuse me? I’m clueless? Cas, Meg Masters, in G-six, has been flirting with you since the welcoming dinner.”

“What?”

* * *

Between the photo shoots and the free time by the lake, Dean, Aaron, and Benny have been devising a plan to get Cas and Meg to at least sit together for dinner one night and pretend it’s a date. Aaron is a very reluctant member in scheming, but it’s either this or deal with his very Jewish stepbrother, Gordon, who yells at him every time he has pork product at breakfast (“EVERYONE LOVES BACON YOU WEIRDO!”).

“But we don’t even know if he likes her,” Aaron whines for the fourth time.

“Aaron, if you don’t wanna help, go see what Ed and Harry are doing,” Dean says. “Cas needs to at least pretend he has experience with girls before he goes to high school.”

“Because you’re mister suave,” Benny says sarcastically.

“You know what, LaFitte?”

“No, tell me, Winchester.” Dean just screws up his face and exhales loudly through his mouth.

“Okay, so Jo told me she and Meg have been talking and Meg kind of respects her even though they’re two years apart. Jo’s our in.”

“So how exactly will this work?” Aaron asks.

“Jo and Meg are gonna stand in line together to get dinner. I’ll drag Cas over to talk to Jo because I’ve got a question about Aunt Ellen and Uncle Bobby. Then, Jo will yell at me and storm off and I’ll chase after her and that’ll leave Meg and Cas alone, and boom! They’re talking, they’re falling in like, and I’m the best wingman ever.” Dean looks very pleased with himself.

“What about us?”

“You convince Cas it’s a good idea when he freaks out and tries to sit at our table without her.”

“Why can’t you?”

“Because I’m hiding with Jo watching the whole thing, but Cas’ll think I’m arguing with her the next room over.”

“It’s not a bad plan,” Aaron says, nodding. Benny rolls his eyes.

“Is that really the best you can do?” Benny drawls.

“You got a better plan?”

“I’m sitting with Meg Masters at dinner tonight.” All three of them jump and turn to the doorway. Cas is strolling in with his camera, a DSLR he was finally allowed to buy this year.

“What?” It’s a chorus, all three plotters at once.

“Yeah, we talked today in art,” Cas shrugs, putting his camera away. “She was nice.”

“That’s great, Cas!” Dean smirks at him. Cas just smiles weakly back.

* * *

“Clarence, you’re one weird dude.”

“I still don’t understand why you keep calling me Clarence.” Meg huffs and rolls her eyes.

“It’s from a movie,” she tells him. “All that reading, do you ever watch movies?”

“Gabe shows me what he calls the classics, and Dean’s given me some recommendations.”

“Winchester, huh?”

“He’s my best friend.”

“Don’t you two live, like, six states away from each other.”

“It’s a three and a half hour flight,” Cas says. She cocks an eyebrow at him. “I looked it up once.”

“And to drive?”

“Twenty-two hours nonstop.” Meg laughs.

“You’re something else, Clarence.” Cas frowns.

“Is that flirting?” Both her eyebrows shoot up.

“Oh, baby, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

* * *

Dean watches them all through dinner, ignoring how something is panging in him, something uncomfortable that he keeps trying to ignore. Ash asks him more than once if he’s okay, he’s making a face, and Dean tells him every time that he’s fine.

After dinner, they’re roasting marshmallows. Meg keeps Cas by her side, holding his hand. They sit close together on the log as Cas keeps his stick in the fire, Meg curled into his side, almost possessive. He always offers her the marshmallow first before he takes his own. It’s nice, Dean thinks. That’s what boyfriends are supposed to do. He’s not doing too badly so far.

There’s twenty minutes between the end of marshmallow roasting and the time you have to be back at your cabin for the night. Dean wanders around, heading, in a very indirect way, back to the cabin. He’s walking by himself, because Cas still hasn’t been able to get away from Meg.

Dean’s walking by the G-six cabin when he looks over and sees someone behind the cabin, away from the paths. He frowns, and walks around. He wonders if it’s one of the guys trying to prank the girls or something. He’s bored; maybe he’ll help.

It’s Meg and Cas. Meg has Cas pinned up against the wall by his hoodie and -- oh. She’s kissing him. Hard. Cas has a hand in her hair, like at the top of her head. It looks awkward. Neither of them see Dean. Dean turns and walks, with a purpose, all the way back to the cabin.

* * *

Cas doesn’t know what to do.

His lips feel weird. He doesn’t like it. He feels sick to his stomach. He doesn’t know how, but he ends up back at the cabin, in his pajamas, curled up in his bunk above Dean, who’s either already asleep or pretending. Cas doesn’t know which would be worse if it were true.

He hadn’t minded sitting with Meg at dinner, but then, he’d thought that was all he’d have to do. She made him stay with her at marshmallows. He and Dean always had a competition, just between the two of them, to see who could get the more burned marshmallow but still eat it. And then, she made him walk her back to his cabin after marshmallows, but instead of letting him walk her up the stairs and to the door, she dragged him around the side of the cabin and kissed him. On the mouth.

And Cas had reciprocated, because that’s what all his books said he had to do when a girl kissed him. Except it didn’t feel like how it was written. In fact, it felt like the opposite of that. And Cas doesn’t know why. He decides, for now, to try and sleep it off, and ask Gabe about it. After camp. Definitely after camp.

* * *

“So are you and Meg dating now?” Dean asks Cas in what he hopes is a casual way at breakfast the next morning.

“No,” Cas says, maybe a little too quickly. Dean raises an eyebrow. “We had fun, but I don’t wanna date at camp. That’s weird.”

“Mmm,” Dean hums what he thinks is an agreement.

They don’t talk about it again for the rest of camp. Cas finishes his new film portfolio, filled with pictures of Dean and nature and other people, too. He focuses on photography and not on the feeling in the pit of his stomach he gets every time Meg catches his eye.

“I’m getting a cell phone when I get back,” Dean tells Cas on the last night. “Can I call you?”

“Will you send me your phone number? In a letter, I mean.”

“Sure.”

“Okay.” Dean grins, and slings an arm across Cas’ shoulders.

“You’re weird,” Dean tells him.

“So are you. You’re a great big nerd,” Cas retorts. Dean laughs.

“Yep.”

* * *

“Gabe, can I ask you a question?”

They’re in Gabe’s pride and joy of a VW van, hurtling up the highway towards home. Dean’s parents and brother were there to pick him up first thing that morning. They said their goodbyes, Dean promised to send him a letter with his phone number as soon as he got home, and they hugged it out, as men do, according to Mr. Winchester, before Dean had to leave.

“What’s up, Cassy?” Gabe asks, flipping off the car in front of him that just cut him off.

“Well, Meg Masters asked me to sit with her at dinner one night, so I did, and --”

“You fucker, what the hell are you even--!? Sorry, Cas, continue,” Gabe waves a hand at Cas, fuming at the incompetence of out-of-state drivers.

“I sat with her at dinner, but then she made me stay with her after dinner at marshmallows and then she made me walk her back to her cabin and --”

“Cas, I’m not the best person to be confiding in about your illicit activities in the girls’ cabins.”

“But -- I --” Cas makes a distressed noise.  
 “Whoa, Cassy, I was kidding. What’s wrong?”

“She kissed me and I didn’t like it!” he blurts out. Gabe falls silent. When Cas looks over, he’s chewing on his lip.

“I can’t tell you why you didn’t like it.”

“Why not?”

“’Cause sometimes I don’t have all the answers, bud,” Gabe says. “But you do. It’ll come to you eventually, kid. Don’t worry about it. Sometimes, all it comes down to is she wasn’t the right person.”


	3. Year Three: Age 15

“Are you nervous?”

“Why would I be nervous, Gabe.”

“Don’t get angry. This is a big deal. You didn’t tell him in the letters, is all I’m saying,” Gabe says, waving one hand around, keeping the other on the steering wheel.

“I’m not sure I’m gonna,” Cas admits.

“The hell you mean?”

“After Dad --”

“Kid, I could give a rat’s ass about what Dad thinks. Mom wouldn’t have cared,” Gabe tells him. “I don’t care. Balth and Anna, and everyone else who matters, don’t care. And trust me, if Dean really is your friend --”

“He’s my best friend, Gabe,” Cas interrupts, but Gabe keeps going.

“--If he really is your best friend, he’s not gonna care. Trust me.”

* * *

“Honey, let me know if you wanna come home, okay? Bobby’ll pull you and take you to his house, all you have to do is ask.” Mary is mothering him a little too hard for Dean’s taste. At least, she’s doing it too hard for a fifteen-year-old, six-foot-almost-one-inch boy.

“Mom, I’m gonna be fine.”

“I know, honey, but if they’re mean to you --”

“Jesus Christ, Mary, he’s gonna be fine,” John says. “He’s probably taller than most of them anyway. He can just beat ‘em up if they’re mean.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Dean says, but he does appreciate it. He knows his mom means well, but ever since he came out she’s just been a bit much.

“If Dean leaves, can I go in his place?” Sam asks.

“Sam!” Mary says sharply.

“What?”

“No,” Dean and John say together. “Mom, I’m gonna be fine.”

“You haven’t even told Cas yet, Dean.”

“I’m gonna,” Dean says, uncomfortable. He stares out the window, hoping the conversation will end, and hoping his best friend won’t care.

* * *

I have to tell you something.

It’s that easy. It’s all he has to say to get the ball rolling, and then he can come out to his best friend, who’s probably literally the last person who matters who still doesn’t know.

They’re out on the lake. It’s a Saturday, so they don’t have to be anywhere for a while. Dean’s skipping rocks, hurtling them out further than usual. Cas is sitting, crisscrossed, watching, his book forgotten in his lap. Dean’s trying to make it up to seven skips now, but he can’t seem to get past five. He made it to six last summer, and he remembers the cheering and the whooping he and Cas did when it happened. He retained bragging rights in the cabin last summer, as the only one to make it six skips.

He’d like to keep his record up. Ed and Harry didn’t believe him when he did it, but no one really likes them anyway so it doesn’t matter.

“Dean?” Cas says suddenly.

“Yeah?”

“Remember how I told you about my dad’s and my big fight?”

“The one back in February?”

“Yeah.”

“What about it?”

“He was mad at me because he didn’t like something I said, and I didn’t back down from him, and Gabe backed me up, which he wasn’t expecting, so now I’m pretty much boarding when I’m not living with Gabe in Boston, and it’s a big mess --”

“Cas, whatever happened, it’s not a big deal. Your dad’s a jerk. You’ve known this for a while,” Dean says. Cas has pulled his knees into his chest. “Whatever you said to him, it was probably true and he probably deserved to hear it.”

“Dean, I’m his son, of course he deserved to hear that I’m gay,” Cas says, and then his eyes get wide. “That wasn’t how I wanted to tell you.” Dean rocks back on his heels. “Dean, I’m sorry, I wanted to tell you, but, like, better -- I-I didn’t want to just blurt it out like that --”

“I came out in March,” Dean interrupts. Cas stares at him. “Beat me to the growth spurt, beat me coming out. Am I ever gonna catch up to you?”

“You’re taller than me.” Dean just laughs, breathless and joyful.

“Is that really all you can say right now? I’m taller than you?”

“Honestly, yeah.”

* * *

Dean and Cas come out to the cabin separately, with the guys in groups of twos and threes. Benny is less than surprised, and says as much. Garth hugs them and thanks them for telling him. Aaron, who’s been sheltered his whole life, has questions, but he tries so hard not to be rude about it because “why would it matter to me who you’re making out with?” Ed and Harry just look as unimpressed with them as they always have. Adam doesn’t really respond but Dean doesn’t really care because Adam doesn’t talk to anyone, so he’s not offended or anything.

Ash just claps them both on the shoulder with a “Good for you, kid,” and moves on. It’s reminiscent of when he told his parents, carefully and so hopeful, and once it was out there so relieved that his mother still hugged him the same, and his father didn’t even blink. Sam was, as always with Dean, mildly unimpressed with his nervousness and when Dean made a comment about the staggering amount of support he was feeling from him, Sam just rolled his eyes and muttered “Jerk” under his breath.

Nothing really changed since Dean started telling people that he liked boys, and for that he’s grateful. He’s grateful that his best friend understood -- Cas probably understood better than anyone else he’s told, frankly. It’s a relief, that they can still sit out at the lake and Cas can tell him about the book Dean’s supposed to read for school while Dean works his way up to the Official Camp Wooded Falls Rock-Skipping Record. He doesn’t have the words for it (just because he’s Not-Quite-Straight doesn’t mean he feels an overwhelming urge to verbalize his feelings) but he thinks Cas gets it.

At least, he thought he did until about halfway through camp.

“How did your parents react?” Cas asks. They’re sitting side by side at the log at marshmallows after dinner, Dean twirling a stick with one of Ellen’s homemade jumbo marshmallows on the end, browning nicely.

“When?”

“When you told them.”

“Well,” Dean starts, thinking. “My mom cried a little bit. Not because she was disappointed that I’m Not-Quite-Straight, just she knew how shitty it was gonna get at school.”

“And your dad?”

“He’s not very wordy,” Dean says, laughing a little. “Sam didn’t care.”

“But your dad was accepting,” Cas clarifies and Dean nods, pulling his stick out of the fire and holding it out to Cas, who slides the marshmallow off the stick with two graham crackers and a piece of chocolate.

“Yours wasn’t,” Dean says, a little too blunt. Cas doesn’t wince, but Dean can see that it hurts on his face, when his eyebrow twitches just slightly.

“No.”

“But Gabe was,” Dean says, trying to turn this conversation around. “You’re living with Gabe this summer, after camp’s over, right?”

“And every time his school’s not in session,” Cas replies. “Otherwise I’m in the dorms at Middlesex.”

“He kicked you out?” Dean screeches. A few campers look over. Ash shoots them a funny look.

“Basically,” Cas says in an undertone, reminding Dean, at least subconsciously, that they’re not alone. “I like living with Gabe more than I ever did with him, anyway. Sometimes I stay with Anna, too.”

“Cas — that’s —”

“I’m fine with it, Dean, really,” Cas says, taking a bite of the s’more and offering the rest to him. Dean frowns at him but takes it anyway. “The Miltons are nice, and they’re family.”

“And what’s your dad?”

“An asshole,” Gabe says, appearing out of nowhere, head between them. “How are my favorite awkward out-and-proud teenagers doing?”

“What do you want, Gabriel?” Cas says, exasperated.

“Just checking in. Also, there are betting pools going about how long it’ll take you two to get together. Which one should I bet on?”

“What?”

“There’s one week from Tuesday, end of camp, before next summer, and there’s one that you’re both secretly together right now, but I think I’d know if that were true,” he fixes them with a mock-stern look, “because I know my baby brother would tell me if he got a boyfriend. Right?”

“We’re just friends, Gabe,” Dean says. Cas looks too mortified to speak. “Tell the betting pools to shove it up their asses.”

* * *

Cas is still majoring in photography. This year, he’s shooting the rehearsals of the musical, so he spends a lot of his time in the theatre with Charlie and Dorothy. He likes shooting the dancers the most; their movement is so much more interesting than the others, and he likes the contrast between their heads and bodies, especially when they’re turning and spotting on the wall at the same time.

He’s at a lunch rehearsal one day, taking a break, eating in the audience, a little ways away from the cast because the only ones he really knows is Anna and Aaron, but they’re with their theatre friends and he’d feel awkward eating with them, when Charlie comes and sits one row behind him.

“So, you and Dean,” she says, smirking, and Cas groans.

“Not you too,” he whines. She laughs.

“Relax, kid, I’m kidding. Just because he’s the only gay in the village doesn’t mean you gotta date him.”

“He’s not gay,” Cas says quickly.

“He likes boys, is what I mean,” Charlie says.

“And?”

“Well, you two are pretty close.”

“And?”

“Jeez, kid, don’t get all defensive. It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, if you liked him.” She raises an eyebrow. “Do you?”

“Like him?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s my best friend, Charlie, of course I like him.” She rolls her eyes.

“That’s not what I meant, dummy. But I can see I’m not getting anywhere with that conversation, so I’ll drop it. But,” she pauses, the shadow of a smirk on her face. “Just so you know, she was my best friend, too.”

* * *

Dean’s major is still woodworking, because he’s still too young for auto. He’s complained to Bobby about this more than once, but Bobby’s response is always the same: “Kid, I don’t want a damn lawsuit, and you’re a liability. I don’t care how long I’ve known you.”

Bobby and Ellen have him over for dinner two weeks before the end of camp. Jo tags along, chattering away about archery and how much she likes it and how Anna’s show looks really good, and will Dean please sit with her when they go? Cas can come too, Cas is nice, will he ever come to dinner with them?

“Why would Cas come to dinner?” Dean asks, frowning from his half-chopped vegetables.

“Aren’t you and him dating?”

“Why does everyone think we’re dating?” Dean says, setting his knife down. “Enlighten me, Joanna.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why does everyone think they’re dating, Joanna?” Ellen asks for Dean. Jo glares at her for a second, when her head is turned.

“Well, you guys are always together, and you both came out this summer, and —”

“Just because we’re out doesn’t mean we’re out together,” Dean says.

“Well, you two are awfully close,” Jo says. “Everyone says so.”

“Everyone just wants a relationship to gossip about,” Dean grumbles.

“Someone’s been talking to Dorothy,” Jo teases.

“She started it,” Dean says defensively. “Charlie talked to Cas. We think they double-teamed us.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Ellen says. “They’re basically the PFLAG of camp.”

“Charlie and Dot?” Bobby says, coming into the kitchen with a plate of freshly grilled steaks. “Yeah, they’ve been talkin’ to me too.”

“Oh god, about me and Cas?”

“Yes, and I’ll tell you what I told them. Kid, what’s goin’ on between you and Cas ain’t anyone’s business but yours and Cas’, and anyone who gives you shit about it you can tell them to talk to me about it.”

“No one’s giving us shit, Uncle Bobby,” Dean says. “They’re just really nosy.”

“Still, everyone needs to mind their damn business.”

“Bobby,” Ellen says, half warning. “C’mon kids, sit.”

* * *

“Jo asked when you’re coming to dinner,” Dean reports that night.

“What’d you tell her?”

“To mind her own business.” Cas smiles, drops his gaze into his book. “Whatcha reading?”

“To Kill A Mockingbird.”

“Dude, you’ve read that like, four times since I’ve met you.”

“It’s my favorite book, and I need to read it for English in September.”

“It’s barely August!” Cas just calmly turns his page.

“Is it on your reading list?”

“Probably,” Dean says, shrugging and pulling off his T-shirt to change into his pajamas. Cas keeps reading.

“Maybe you should reread it.”

“Maybe schools should put, like, Harry Potter and The Fellowship of the Ring on their reading lists. Maybe then I’d read.” Cas rolls his eyes.

“Dean, that’s hardly literature.”

“Show me a book series that changed how kids everywhere read and I’ll show you Harry Fucking Potter.”

* * *

“So that Facebook thing,” Dean says two days before it’s time to leave. Cas is in the photography lab, finishing up the edits on his movement portfolio. He glances at Dean quickly.

“What about it?”

“My mom said I could get one when I get back. She’s convinced I’m going to get cyber bullied or something. My dad promised he’d work on her while I was gone.”

“Is this your ass-backwards way of asking if I’ll get one too and be your friend?”

“I was getting there,” Dean says, nudging him. “So, will you?”

“I’ll think about it,” Cas says, half smirking. “Will you do your summer reading?” Dean makes a dying sound.

“Cas, you can’t bargain summer reading for Facebook friendship!”

“Yes I can.”

In the end, Dean negotiates one whole book, with a summary sent to him via email or over the phone, in exchange for Cas joining Facebook with him. Cas is grinning smugly to himself by the end of the conversation and Dean tells him, more than once, to stop smirking like that you jerk you are a spoiled child.

Dean picks The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, at which Cas rolls his eyes because “Dean, didn’t you read that in, like, middle school?” but deems an acceptable summer reading book. Dean resolves to read it in less than two weeks, which Cas agrees to, because he saw how fast Dean whipped through Deathly Hallows when Mary sent it to him.

Their final day of camp is spent with John and Mary and Sam, who always come up for the art show and the musical, even though Dean doesn’t have art and isn’t in the musical. They compliment Cas -- sometimes to the point of embarrassment for Dean -- about how talented he is with a camera. Mary asks for an extra print of the photo he took of Dean, which has become something of a tradition -- Dean, leaned up against a tree by the lake, holding a skipping rock.

“It’s so nice to see, especially since you’re usually wearing the same outfit,” she teases. “Shows how much you’ve grown.”

“Mom,” Dean groans.

“That’s partially why I like taking it,” Cas admits and Dean looks over at him, shocked. Cas never told him that. “It’s a good scale to measure how far we’ve come.”


	4. Year Four: Age 16

“You’re lucky,” Dean says one afternoon a week into camp. He’s still skipping rocks, but he’s given up on beating his record. There are some things that you just shouldn’t push when you’ve got a good thing going.

“Why?” Cas asks, looking up from one of the college brochures he brought out with him. He’s got a whole folder with him, the brochures and flyers spread out in front of him, a safe distance away from the lapping edge of the lake.

“You’ve got gay guys at your school.” Dean hurtles the rock a little too forcefully, and nearly hits the buoy. If he breaks one more, Bobby’ll skin him and he knows it.

“You talk as if they want to date me,” Cas says wryly.

“Don’t they?” Dean turns around. Cas is smiling, brow furrowed.

“Dean, I’m a bookworm.” He stands up and hands Dean another rock. It’s smooth and round and flat, perfect for skipping.

“I thought they were called twinks.” Cas smacks him lightly with the back of his hand. “What?”

“You know what.”

“You’re mean.” Cas laughs once. “Laughing at my pain. I need a new best friend.”

“Yes, that’s what you need,” Cas says sarcastically.

* * *

Sam is twelve this year, and Bobby has worn down John and Mary enough that he is allowed to come to camp a year before he was supposed to. He’s adapted fantastically. Gabe is his counselor, which for some reason comforts Sam more than Dean thinks it should. Maybe it’s because Gabe comes up behind him and Cas in the mess hall and tries (and more than once succeeds) in scaring the absolute shit out of them.

Sam has never spent more than a few hours at a time with Cas, so this summer is the first real time he’s seen Cas outside of hanging out with Mary and John. Granted, he doesn’t spend that much time with Cas, but by week two, he’s already asking Dean what he did to him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sammy.”

“He’s corrupted! Mom goes on and on all year long about what a nice boy Cas is, and how you’re so lucky you’ve got a friend like him and -- and --”

“Relax,” Dean waves him off. “He’s nice because she’s Mom. Just like how you suck up to all your teachers.”

“I do extra credit, Dean.”

“Yeah, that.” Sam rolls his eyes.

“That’s just being smart.”

“Exactly. He’s gotta make sure Mom and Dad like him.” Sam frowns.

“But why would it matter if -- oh.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Sammy, what?”

“It’s nothing! Really. I get it.”

“Good.”

“You could’ve told me.”

“Told you?”

“Yeah.” It’s Dean’s turn to frown.

“Told you what, exactly?”

“That you and Cas were dating.”

* * *

It takes Dean another ten minutes to convince Sam that he and Cas are just friends, but it doesn’t matter. There were enough people within earshot of that conversation that the rumors, as well as the bets, resurface. Gabe makes a mildly threatening comment about not telling him, again. Charlie and Dorothy make a point of letting their engagement rings catch the firelight at marshmallows and smile knowingly in that annoying way couples do at single people. Cas just groans into his hands while Dean roasts marshmallows that he knows Cas won’t eat.

Dean is finally old enough for auto shop. He and John have a deal that, if he can rebuild an engine by the end of camp, he can have the Impala (John mostly drives his pickup now, but Dean isn’t allowed to drive the Impala until he can prove he can handle it), and Mary will think about letting him drive out of state.

“And, once she does, I can visit you on breaks without having to fly!” Dean finishes at breakfast. Cas watches him, eyebrows raised.

“You should work on that whole fear-of-flying thing,” Cas says, dropping his gaze back to his bowl of cereal.

“Is that seriously all you got from that whole speech?”

“Yes.”

“You’re impossible.” Aaron and Benny sit down, Aaron next to Cas and Benny next to Dean. High school football hit Benny like a fucking freight train, which Dean thinks is ironic because that’s literally what he is now. He’s even got stubble, which Dean doesn’t think is very fair. Aaron is still scrawny and beardless, which is a comfort to Dean.

“Guys, Ben Braeden is here,” Aaron whispers urgently.

“Who?”

“The kid in B-three with the hot mom,” Benny says, and nods in the direction of a kid Sam is talking to.

“He’s been here ever since the beginning of camp, did you just notice him?” Cas asks.

“Well, yeah,” Aaron says sheepishly. “Shit, take my bacon. Gordon’s coming over here.” Cas swipes his plate. Gordon, hulking with a camp-issue staffer shirt that’s just a little too tight, passes their table, hand clapping down on Aaron’s shoulder in a greeting. Aaron waits until he’s past them and collapses in, grabbing his shoulder in pain.

“Hot Mom Braeden?” Cas prompts, looking mildly confused. He puts Aaron’s bacon back in front of him.

“She’ll be back at the end of the summer to pick him up.”

“So?”

“So, she’ll be here!” Benny and Aaron look at the two of them, expectant.

“Did you forget that I came out last summer?” Cas asks dryly.

“But Dean likes girls, right Dean?”

“Eh,” Dean shrugs.

“Aw, come on, Dean!” Aaron whines.

“Girls have, like, feelings, and shit.” Dean shudders. “At least guys don’t wanna talk about them.” Cas smirks at him.

* * *

“So you’ve dated girls, then,” Cas asks the next day. He has free time on Tuesday afternoons, when Dean has auto shop, so he hangs around while Dean works on an engine block, up to his elbows in metal and grease.

“A couple,” Dean says, frowning at the block. When is he ever going to have to rebuild an engine from scratch for the Impala? In fact, when the hell is he ever going to have to rebuild an engine from scratch for any car?

“No luck?”

“They get all weepy over stupid shit,” Dean grumbles. “And then they always wanna know what I’m doing, when I’m doing it, and I’m just not about that, you know?”

“You always tell me what you’re doing,” Cas says, teasing. Dean rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, because you’re my best friend and you’re in fucking Massachusetts. You always tell me what you’re doing.”

“I’m not the one who tried dating girls,” Cas replies coolly. Dean looks up at him, scrutinizing.

“Are you making fun of me?”

“Just a little bit.”

“Rude.” Cas just smirks at him from the work table he’s sitting on. Benny comes up and nudges him to move over. Cas scoots toward the end of the table, and Benny grabs a wrench off the wall and goes back to his own engine block without a word.

“He’s in a good mood.”

“He’s not wordy, you know that,” Dean says. “He’s probably minds you here the least.”

“Do the others care?”

“I don’t,” Dean says. “They’re not fun to talk to.”

* * *

Sam somehow gets roped into doing the show; probably by Jo, if Dean has to guess. Dean sits in on a rehearsal during some of his free time because Dorothy asked some of the carpentry and auto shop kids to help her with the set. Dean’s watching Anna (Cas’ cousin), and Jo, and Sam, and a blonde girl from the G-twos that Dean doesn’t know the name of onstage. Sam and the blonde girl are grinning and whispering, and Jo is nudging Sam every now and then, no doubt with some sort of inappropriate comment that sends both Sam and the G-two into a new round of silent laughter.

The cast gets a ten minute break while Dorothy talks to Bobby about what to get the carpentry and auto shop kids to build, and Dean takes this opportunity to approach his brother.

“Heya, Sammy,” Dean says, delighting in the blush that blooms over Sam’s face.

“Dean, don’t call me that, it’s Sam,” he says insistently and Dean knows it’s because of his new friend next to him.

“Who’s your friend?”

“I’m Jess,” she says.

“First year?”

“No,” she says. Dean frowns, puzzled.

“I don’t remember you.”

“Dean, you’re four years older than her,” Sam says.

“It’s okay. I know you, though. You and Cas Novak had that rumor last year —”

“Seriously, that’s my claim to fame? Not the fact that I’m six skips away from beating the camp rock-skipping record?”

“I wasn’t even aware of a record,” she says.

“Dean, literally you and Cas and Bobby are the only ones who care about that stupid record.”

“Hey, watch it, your tech crew cares, too,” Dean says.

“Ed and Harry?” Jo raises an eyebrow. “Since when do you care what they think?”

“I don’t, but for the purposes of this argument, which I’m going to win, they matter.” Jo rolls her eyes.

“Of all the rumors that could be started, that’s a pretty benign rumor,” Jess says thoughtfully.

“Don’t mind him, he’s got a complex,” Sam says.

“I do not!”

* * *

Cas is positively cackling by the time Dean’s finished relaying his experience at rehearsals with Sam and Jess and Jo.

“You’re so upset by that rumor, it’s just so funny,” Cas says, dropping a brochure into the pile on his left, which Dean thinks is his “no” pile.

“If I remember correctly, you were just as mortified as me last year,” Dean says indignantly, letting a rock fly across the lake but sink after only two skips. He’s having an off day.

“That was before.”

“Before what?”

“Before I tried dating boys,” Cas says.

“I thought none of them wanted to.”

“None of them do. Anymore, that is.”

“What happened? Did you start a rumor about yourself or something?”

“I realized that I was much smarter than my dates.” Dean scoffs. “No! It’s true! Gabe can attest to that.”

“What does ‘much smarter’ mean?”

“I couldn’t relate to any of them,” Cas says after a moment of thinking. “They wanted to talk about school, and gossip, and how awful all their girl friends were because they felt like accessories, and I wanted to talk about what we were reading in English, because we don’t really get to discuss as much as I’d like, and what kind of music they liked, and what they thought of the gay rights movement both in our country and worldwide, and --”

“Jesus, no wonder they stopped trying to date you.” Cas glares at him. “I’m kidding. But don’t ask me about the gay rights movement.”

“Please. Your opinion is whatever gets me to shut up the fastest.”

“You know me so well,” Dean smirks. Cas just rolls his eyes. “So didja kiss them?”

“Who?”

“All your dates, before they decided that you were too intellectual for them.”

“No.” Dean stops, turns around to face him. “What?”

“How many did you go on?”

“With each of them? One.”

“And how many did you date?” Cas tilts his head, thinking.

“Four? Maybe five. I don’t know. A few of them looked alike. I think I have a type.”

“You’ve been on four or five dates and you still haven’t kissed anyone?” Cas shrugs. “Jesus, maybe that’s why they didn’t wanna date you. You’re a prude, Cas.”

“I am not!”

“Yeah, you are. Look, dude, it’s not sex. No one’s dicks touch unless you get, like, super into it. Hell, you don’t even have to use tongue.”

“Why are you coaching me on kissing?”

“Because obviously you need it!” Dean drops to his knees and sits next to him. He holds up his hands and makes them into fists, his index and middle fingers’ knuckles protruding slightly. “All it’s gotta be is a touch. Easy-peasy, just pressure.” He presses them together, the seams between his fingers crossing. “Like that.”

“I’ve read books, you know. I know how people kiss.”

“That was probably the saddest thing you’ve ever said,” Dean tells him. Cas rolls his eyes. “Seriously, that was really fucking sad.”

“What about my religious crisis in January?”

“Nope, this is sadder than your God-is-dead-or-he-just-doesn’t-care speech. ‘I’ve read books.’ Jesus, Cas.”

“Well, I’m sorry, that’s the closest I’m getting to kissing anyone until college at least.”

“Oh, god, Cas, don’t say things like that, it hurts,” Dean says, grabbing his chest in mock pain.

“It’s the truth.”

“Okay, you know what?” Dean says, standing up suddenly. “I’m gonna kiss you.” Cas leans back on his hands, eyebrow raised.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“Dean.”

“No, seriously, Cas. I am not letting you go to college without having kissed someone.”

“You know we have two more years left of high school, right?”

“And you’ve already pointed out that none of the boys in your school wanna date you. Get up.” Cas stands up and crosses his arms over his chest. “Now, I don’t wanna intimidate you or anything, but I’ve been told I’m a pretty fuckin’ great kisser.”

“You’re not intimidating, you’re irritating,” Cas tells him with a slight smirk. Dean smacks his crossed arms lightly.

“You don’t even have to kiss back, okay? Just, you need to get this out of the way so you’re less awkward in case you ever do go on a date.” Cas rolls his eyes. “Stop rolling your eyes.” Dean squares his shoulders and shakes out his arms, jumps up and down a couple times.

“Are you psyching yourself up?”

“Dude, it’s your first kiss, I gotta make this good.” Cas laughs. “Are you relaxed?”

“Are you?” Dean resists the urge to flip him off.

Dean rolls his head around once and lets his shoulders drop naturally. He holds Cas’ arms, right at the elbows, and leans in. Cas does, too, but they don’t meet halfway. In fact, Dean’s doing most of the reaching. It’s the simplest of touches, lip to lip, and Cas doesn’t expect his eyes to close but they do. He barely registers it when Dean’s hands slide down from his elbows to his wrists, almost holding hands.

He can’t compare this to Meg Masters’ kiss two years ago. This is infinitely better than that. This is what the books describe. This is the exact opposite of what kissing Meg had felt like. What he didn’t realize was how hard it would hit, how much he would want to kiss Dean back.

But, of course, by the time he’s registered all of this, Dean’s pulling away and letting go of his wrists.

“Good?” Dean asks, and Cas knows he’s just imagining how wrecked Dean sounds, how wide his pupils are. Cas nods. “Good.”

* * *

They don’t speak of the kiss.

It’s not a topic they actively avoid. Rather, it just never needs to be mentioned. They fall into their patterns, just like they always do. Dean finishes the engine block on the last day before the parents all arrive. That milestone is celebrated with jumping and whooping and running off the dock to jump in the lake, fully clothed.

John is appropriately impressed when he sees the engine block, which Bobby tells him will go into a junker pickup in his backyard for Jo to drive. Dean radiates sunshine and happiness for the rest of the day, but Cas doesn’t mention it because it’s nice.

“I’ll call you when we’re home,” Dean says. Cas has to stay later than everyone because Gabe always stays and helps clean up. He nods and Dean quirks his lips. “Kiss some boys this year, yeah?”

They’re alone. This is very important to Cas. They are alone in the cabin. All the other guys are out, ogling Hot Mom Braeden, if he had to guess.

He doesn’t know why, but he grabs Dean by the T-shirt and kisses him, hard and quick. Dean makes some kind of surprised noise. When Cas pulls away, he turns Dean around and pushes him out the door, where he sees his family already halfway up the hill. He looks over his shoulder to Cas. Cas just waves him out.

Dean walks out.

It’s gonna be one hell of a conversation when Dean calls him, Cas thinks.


	5. Year Five: Age 17

Dean is positively vibrating as they get closer and closer to camp. Sam keeps making bitch faces at him, telling him to stop it, he’s moving the whole bench seat, can you maybe not you jerk, oh my god. When he’s certain Mary and John aren’t looking, Dean flips him off.

It’s been months since he’s seen Cas.

Once John parks the car, Dean barely sticks around long enough to get his trunk. He takes off to the B-seven cabin, leaving John, Mary, and Sam in the dust. He doesn’t much care, though. He gets to the cabin, Aaron and Benny pulling an oversize foot locker up the stairs.

“Hey, Dean,” Benny grunts. “Lend a hand?”

“Sure.” Dean drops his trunk at the bottom of the stairs and catches the side of the foot locker and helps them carry it up the stairs. They drop it at the porch.

“I got it from here, thanks,” Aaron says, panting. “Cas is inside, Dean.”

“He is?” And Dean is gone, halfway to the middle of the cabin.

It’s a normal cabin. There are four bunk bed sets, a single for the counselor, and a single for the junior counselor.

Someone grabs his face and turns his head, gently, to the left. Before Dean can protest, though, Cas is kissing him, gently, not passionately, right on the mouth.

“Hi,” Cas says, a bit sheepish, when he pulls away. Dean smiles.

“Hey.”

“Oh, god, will you two cut it out?” Ed and Harry are marching in. Ed has his arm across his eyes. “Don’t wanna watch you two stick your tongues down your throats.”

“Knock it off, Ed. Let ‘em have their moment,” Garth says, swaying slightly. What a weirdo, Dean thinks, but he finds it in him to smile appreciatively anyway.

“Where are you sleeping?”

“That bunk,” Cas nods to the bunk furthest from the counselors’ beds. Dean smirks at him.

“Nice choice.”

“Well, the thing is --”

“Hey there, gents!” Dean spins on his heel. Gabe is striding in, sunglasses still over his eyes, hair slicked back, wet probably from the lake. Dean looks at Cas, who’s got this look on his face. It might be a grimace. “Hope you’re all ready for CIT bootcamp! It’s gonna be one helluva summer!”

“You gotta be kidding me,” Dean mutters.

“I wish I was,” Cas replies.

* * *

“No canoodling,” Gabe says very seriously at dinner. Aaron and Benny snort into their dinner. Cas blushes furiously.

“Gabe, have you seen those beds? Even if we wanted to, it’d be pretty tight,” Dean says, squeezing Cas’ knee under the table. “And last I checked, Cas didn’t have much of an exhibition kink.” Cas smacks Dean in the stomach. “What?”

“Stop. It. Now,” he hisses. Dean snakes an arm around Cas’ waist and pulls him into his side.

“Aw, don’t be embarrassed, babe,” Dean coos. Cas shoves him away and drops his head pointedly towards his dinner. Everyone else, Dean included, just laughs.

By the end of dinner, though, Cas has somehow managed to sneak closer to Dean, until he’s tucked into his side and they’re practically eating off the same tray. They walk out of the mess hall, arms around waists, to the first marshmallow roasting of the summer. They end up cuddled together on the log, close to the fire, watching the flames, Dean catching marshmallows on fire and letting them be completely burned before blowing them out and eating it, all at once, maybe burning the roof of his mouth. Dean properly browns a few, just for Cas, because he knows how particular he is about his marshmallows.

Charlie slides next to Dean close to the time they have to go back to their cabins.

“Hey, strangers,” she says, grinning. “How are things?”

“Don’t be so smug,” Dean says, even though he’s grinning, too.

“Can I say it? Please?”

“Get it over with.”

“I told you so!” she sing-songs. “Dot and I are very happy for you.”

“How was the wedding?” Cas asks, leaning forward slightly so he can see her.

“Awesome. Awesomer than you two could ever hope,” she says primly. “When camp ends we’re going to Hawaii for our honeymoon.”

“When was the wedding?” Dean asks.

“What day is today?”

“Sunday.”

“Wednesday,” she replies, after a moment of thinking and counting on her fingers.

* * *

Being CITs means less free time than in years past. Somehow, though, they get Thursday afternoons together. But this summer is different than previous summers. For one, they’re boyfriends. This is the first significant amount of time without their parents or brothers supervising them (for the most part). Sam’s got activities on Thursday afternoons, and Gabe is off doing Gabe things. They don’t have to worry about them.

So, they do the respectable boyfriends thing; they go into the woods, just past the initial tree line, and make out behind a tree.

At Christmas, Dean slept on the pull-out couch in Gabe’s living room, as per the deal Dean made with Mary to visit Cas, but Gabe was pretty much okay with Dean and Cas being behind closed doors. He promised not to tell John and Mary, so long as he didn’t have to hear anything. Dean and Cas, still new to the whole boyfriends thing, decided that what Gabe was referring to wouldn’t even take place. However, making out behind closed doors did allow for some minor ass-grabbing, which was the exact opposite of unwelcome.

But it’s been almost six months since they’ve been physically together. Between the late-night Skype calls and the never-ending Facebook messaging and texting, they talk practically hourly. But this, pressed close to each other with their hands in the other’s hair, practically breathing each other in, can’t be felt over text message.

Cas will never get over how Dean feels when he’s pressing Cas against something -- the bedroom wall his bed is pushed up against, his bed, this tree right this second -- and he doesn’t think he ever wants to. He’ll never get over how Dean tries to start off good, with hands in Cas’ hair, but they inexplicably always end up in the back pockets of whatever pants or shorts he’s wearing; they’re khaki shorts at the moment and Dean’s fingers are split by the button holding the pocket closed. He’ll never get over how Dean lets him kiss him, deep and open and so unlike Dean in real life, how Dean will kiss him back just as deep and with just as much emotion as Cas is giving. He’ll never get over how this is the only time Dean will let anybody who isn’t his mother touch his hair, and how Cas gets to be the only person to touch.

It’s a bit of a rush, really.

Dean pulls back, a fraction of an inch, but it’s enough that they stop kissing. He leans his forehead against Cas’.

“Hi,” Dean says.

“Hello, Dean.”

“We’re gonna get caught.”

“Where do you suggest we do this then?” Cas asks, letting his head fall back against the tree. “On the shore? They’ll see us.”

“Not necessarily,” Dean replies. “We’re out of the way.”

“To everyone except those on the lake at the moment.”

“They’re a bit busy riding jetskis and making sure they don’t crash into the canoers to be spying on us, don’t you think?” Cas’ eyes narrow slightly, but his smirk stays in place.

“You wanna beat the record, don’t you.”

“And make out!” Dean says. “I totally wanna keep that up, but at some point, y’know, I’m real close, and I had a good baseball season, and --”

“Fine,” Cas says, pulling away from the tree and pulling Dean towards the tree line and the lake. Dean follows, catching up to catch Cas’ hand and interlock their fingers, arms swinging slightly as they exit the forest.

* * *

Between the not-so-sneaky makeout sessions, and the CIT training -- Dean has decided that if he becomes a junior counselor next year, there is no way in hell he’s working with risers again, and he’ll tell Bobby that as soon as he gets him alone -- camp is half-over before Dean realizes. Ellen drops by the cabin one morning, right when they’re getting ready to leave.

“Dinner tonight at home,” she tells him.

“Okay.”

“Bring Cas.” Dean balks slightly, but she’s already leaving. Cas falls into step with him.

“Problem?”

“I think Ellen just told me to bring you home for dinner, so she could meet you properly.”

“She knows me,” Cas points out. Dean nods, sliding an arm over Cas’ shoulders. Cas wraps an arm around his waist, almost like he didn’t have to think about it.

“There might be some interrogation.”

“Why, because your parents couldn’t do it themselves?” Dean looks at him, eyes wide. Cas’ widen, too. “No.”

* * *

“She’s not gonna, you know --”

“She and your mom have been talking,” Bobby says by the grill.

“Shouldn’t you be in there protecting him?” Sam wonders out loud.

“He and Jo are talking about photographing rehearsals, he’s fine. Seriously? I thought you and Dad were --”

“They’re moms, Dean, they worry about their kids. Once you get him through this, it’ll all be fine. Mary just wants to hear he’s as good as you say he is.”

“Aren’t I good enough judge of that?”

“I’m a good judge of that, Dean,” Sam says, rolling his eyes and making a pfft noise.

“Kid, you’re seventeen and he’s your first boyfriend. I don’t blame her for being a little cautious.”

“But he was my best friend before that,” Dean says, half whining.

“Let them get this out of their system, and you can spend the rest of your life saying I told you so, okay?” Dean sighs but nods. “Good. Now, I’m only gonna say this once, and I promised Ellen I wouldn’t say it in front of Jo. Don’t go sneaking into the woods to make out with your boyfriend.” Sam roars with laughter. Dean sputters.

“I -- we -- what?”

“Couple counselors saw you, and told me,” Bobby says. “Boy, you’re about as sneaky as your father was in high school. Not very.”

Bobby finishes grilling and laughing at how red Dean is, and Dean carries the plate of steaks up the stairs to the kitchen, Sam following close behind him. Ellen is finishing sautéing vegetables on the stove, from which she’s directing Jo to set the table and grab the bag of potato chips. Jo and Cas are both setting the table, and laughing at something.

“Oh, god, not you two,” Dean groans.

“Dean, you should be grateful we’re getting along. It could be worse. We could hate each other,” Cas says very seriously.

“Sit down, boys. Jo, grab a fork for the steaks,” Ellen says. Jo’s ponytail hits Dean in the side of the face, not entirely by accident.

“Sit here,” Dean whispers to Cas, pulling him down into the chair next to him. The Harvelle-Singer circular kitchen table normally has four chairs around it, and therefore, when Dean was the only Winchester at camp, they had no issue fitting all four of them for dinner. When Sam came, they pull up an extra seat for Sam between Jo and Bobby. Tonight, they’ve broken out the extra leaf of the table and have set it up two chairs on each long side and a chair at each end. The two chairs on the other side are empty, but Dean knows that Jo will probably sit next to Ellen, across from Dean. Dean is trying, as best he can, to put up buffers for Cas. He has seen Ellen Harvelle-Singer angry once in his entire life, and it is the only time Dean can think of where he could see how other people might be intimidated by her in everyday life.

“So, Cas,” Ellen starts as soon as everyone’s served. She times it just right, so Dean has his mouth full and can’t answer for him and risk getting smacked by her for talking with his mouth full. “How long have you and Dean been dating?”

“Since last August,” Cas replies coolly.

“You get together here?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Dean mumbles, swallowing. Cas kicks him under the table.

“Just after we left, ma’am.” Jo and Sam snort into their plates.

“And is this your first time together since then?”

“I visited at Christmas, Ellen, what --”

“Let him answer, Dean,” Ellen says, fixing him with a look.

“He visited over Christmas break. He slept on the couch at my brother’s apartment.”

“Gabe’s?”

“Yes.” Ellen hums, taking a bite of her steak. Her questions seem to stop, and Bobby asks Jo about rehearsals and Sam about how he likes camp, and about his friends. Dean hopes with everything he’s capable of that he mentions Jess and that he blushes when he does, but Sam’s face stays relatively neutral.

“Cas, what exactly are your intentions with Dean?” Ellen asks suddenly. Dean groans.

“Ellen, come on,” he moans. “Why are you --”

“Because your mother’s expecting a full report, Dean Winchester, and I’ll be damned if I can’t give her one.”

“I intend to stay together with him for as long as he wants,” Cas says, seeming to pick his words carefully. “And I hope he shares that intention with me.”

Under the table, Dean squeezes Cas’ hand.

* * *

“So college,” Dean says by the lake, throwing a rock and counting one, two, three, four skips.

“Yeah?”

“It’s a thing.”

“You’re very observant,” Cas says wryly. Dean turns. Cas is smirking, lopsided, up at him from his book.

“’M being serious, Cas,” Dean says, half-stomping over to him. Cas laughs, holds out his arms. Dean flops to the ground next to him and lets Cas wind his arms around him.

“What about college?” Cas asks, brushing at Dean’s hair, which is falling from its gelled formation onto his forehead. Dean swats his hand away gently.

“We’re both going, and I was thinking, and --”

“If you’re about to suggest that we apply to all the same schools and go to college together -- I’m not sure if I should be flattered or smack you.”

“Cas --”

“No, Dean. We were best friends too long for this relationship to fall apart because we don’t go to school together.” Dean leans more into Cas, so their heads aren’t pressed against each other anymore, but instead Dean’s got his head on the crook of Cas’ shoulder.

“What about cities?”

“What?”

“You weren’t gonna go to school in the middle of nowhere, were you?”

“No, probably not, my guidance counselor and I have only talked about city schools, why?”

“We should pick four or five cities with a lot of colleges in them and apply to schools there and then when we find out we’ll decide.”

“I’m not following, Dean.”

“Look, I wanna get out of Kansas, okay? And, Cas, you’re my best friend before you’re anything else, and I wanna go to school at least near my best friend. So I think we should pick four or five cities right now, and we should pick schools we’d wanna go to in that city, but not tell the other so we know we don’t, like, influence the other. And then, when we get in, we’ll talk.” Cas looks at him, wide blue eyes searching.

“I want you close, too,” Cas finally says. “I do. But I don’t want you to hate me because I picked your college and you didn’t.”

“I could never hate you, Cas.”

* * *

Boston, New York, Philadelphia, and Chicago. They decide that they can allow New Jersey schools that are within two hours of Philly and New York for consideration, too, since anything is better than now. Cas spends some nights on a yellow legal pad, writing down names of schools he’d like to consider in each of the cities. Dean doesn’t ask, just like they promised.

The last week of camp, they are inseparable. They stay, tucked together like spoons in Cas’ bed before Gabe calls lights out and Dean has to get into his own bunk. Cas sits with his back leaned into Dean at meals. They walk around camp, hands intertwined. On the last night, Dean drags Cas away from marshmallows a little earlier than everyone else. He takes him all the way to their cabin, around the back, to where no one walks, and kisses him hard and deep against the wall. Dean is kissing him with everything he has and Cas is kissing back just as much. When he pulls away, Dean’s mouth looks absolutely wrecked and Cas feels that rush again, because he did that. Dean leans his forehead against Cas’, kissing chastely this time. Cas only then realizes he’s panting, and he hadn’t been breathing properly at all.

“I love you,” Dean says, barely a whisper. Cas’ eyes flutter open, and in the darkness, he can just see Dean’s eyes, light from the beaten path reflecting off them.

“I love you,” Cas replies, and Dean kisses him once more, long and lingering and with a promise Cas can’t name, but doesn’t want to anyway.

“We should --” Dean starts but stops.

“Yes?”

“I don’t know,” Dean admits, huffing a laugh. Cas smiles.

“We don’t,” Cas tells him. “Not that I don’t -- it’s just --,” he starts and stops, abruptly, like he’s trying to cover himself for something he’s not saying right.

“Me too,” Dean manages.

“Visit me,” Cas says. “I have an extended weekend in October, maybe you could --”

“I couldn’t make that drive,” Dean says.

“You could fly.”

* * *

“I love you. Call me when you get home,” Cas says, kissing Dean once, twice, three times, staccato and John-and-Mary-and-Sam-friendly.

“I will. Love you.” Dean knows he’s probably smiling like an idiot, but Cas is grinning so wide it looks like his face might split, and Dean hopes he looks that happy, always. Dean pulls him in for one more kiss, too much teeth and lips too tight, but it doesn’t matter.

“Good summer?” John asks once they’re in the pickup, driving away.

“It was pretty good,” Sam says, shrugging. Dean looks over at his little brother. He can’t fight the smile that will probably stay on his face for the rest of the drive home.


	6. Year Six: Age 18

It seems that the universe -- or Bobby Singer -- has a funny sense of humor when it comes to assigning his junior counselors.

Cas is in the B-four cabin, making it the second year that he’s with Sam. Dean, on the other hand, is with the B-ones, the kids he had last year, who, Dean has decided, are the devil’s children.

Dean helps drag Sam’s trunk down to his cabin. Sam pretends that Dean’s just being nice. He knows, and Dean knows Sam knows that he’s doing this mostly because he wants to see Cas. So, Sam lets him walk ahead of him, and Dean tries not to run to the B-four cabin.

Cas is sitting on a currently unclaimed bunk, looking up at the underside of the bed above it. He doesn’t see Dean come in. Dean drops the trunk and slides in next to him, kissing his cheek quickly.

“Hey, babe,” he says, grinning when Cas jumps and looks at him, startled. He softens, and leans in to kiss Dean properly.

“Hi. Look,” he points up to one of the beams holding up the mattress above their heads. Etched into it, with what Dean suddenly remembers was a stolen fork, are his initials.

“Wow,” Dean says. “I forgot I did that.”

“I did mine on the post,” Cas says, getting up and standing on the frame to look at it. Dean follows him, and sees two little letters on the inside of the post, away from anyone just looking at the bed straight-on. “That’s the only reason I remembered you did it, too.”

“Huh.” Sam finally makes it to the cabin.

“Dean,” he whines, voice cracking on the end, not unlike Dean’s had at his age. “You left me!”

“Sorry, Sammy.” Sam makes a face at the nickname, but starts unpacking his trunk. “I gotta go to the B-ones.”

“Yeah,” Cas says. “Mine’ll start arriving soon. Gordon’s arguing with Bobby about days off or something.” He kisses Dean quick, one last time. “Go.”

“See you.”

* * *

“So where you going to college?” Charlie asks at dinner. She’s infiltrated the junior counselors’ table, squeezed herself in right between Cas and Aaron. “All of you, I wanna hear all about it.”

“NYU, their visual arts program,” Cas says immediately.

“NYU,” Dean says. Charlie leans around to look at him, eyebrow raised. “We did that by accident, I swear.”

“We had a plan,” Cas adds. “Really just a happy coincidence.”

“Don’t room with each other,” she says. “I’m serious. Room in the same building if you want, but don’t be roommates. Not yet, anyway.”

“We weren’t planning on it,” Cas says.

“Okay, what about the rest of you? Lovebirds will shut up now,” Charlie says.

“UMich.”

“Bard.”

“Case Western.”

“Oberlin.”

Charlie keeps the conversation going about colleges. Cassie Robinson is telling her all about her struggle to pick a school. Aaron switches seats with Charlie so she can hear. He, Benny, and Garth all lean in.

“You’re both going to NYU?” Aaron says.

“We didn’t plan it, swear,” Dean says, holding up one hand in surrender. “We had a deal.”

“No comparing lists.”

“Apply to schools in the same areas.”

“We had lots of options,” Cas says. “We narrowed it down to two schools each, and then told each other.”

“What were the other schools?” Garth asks.

“I think you had BC and I had Tufts?” Cas says, looking at Dean, tilting his head.

“I think so, yeah, I really don’t remember,” Dean says, shrugging.

“Jesus,” Benny mutters. “Andrea dumped my ass the second she got into Yale.”

* * *

Being junior counselors means they don’t get to bunk right next to each other anymore. Dean’s trying not to let that bother him too much. Besides, there’s a very good chance they’ll be in the same dorm building in the fall. There’ll be plenty of time for sleepovers (innocent or not) in three months.

It doesn’t stop him from thinking about October break. Or Thanksgiving break. Or Christmas break. Or prom night.

It occurs to him, late one night in the throes of sexual frustration, that he’s a junior counselor now. He can go into the forest if he damn well pleases, and no one can tell on him this time. So, he starts planning. He falls asleep mid-plan, in fact, and loses a third of what was promising to be a really great plan for having sex with Cas in the woods in such a way that minimal nature-related injuries would take place.

He finds Cas at lunch, and manages to find a table where they can sit alone and discuss what he remembers of this plan.

“Dean, are you absolutely insane?” Cas asks, once he’s let Dean explain his whole proposal. Dean usually quietly appreciates the fact that Cas is willing to listen to everything he has to say before systematically disproving every point, but right now, the appreciation is nowhere to be found.

“What?”

“First of all, the chances of us being seen going into the woods together and the chances of us being followed are pretty high, considering you’re basically Bobby’s son, and we’re the next best thing after Dot and Charlie. Second, the mosquitos here are the size of my head and they will bite the shit out of us, why would I want to expose even more skin to that? And third --”

“Okay, I get it, no sex in the forest. You’re no fun.”

“We can find time, Dean,” Cas says, voice gentler now. “I promise you, you will not spend this whole summer without getting laid.”

“I stayed up thinking about this,” Dean whines.

“I’m sure you did, babe.”

* * *

Dean hates the B-ones.

Well, he doesn’t hate them. They’re all “gonna be sixth graders,” as they call themselves. Most of them are starting middle school, so they think they’re hot shit because they’re out of elementary. Dean doesn’t know whether he should pity them or not. They don’t know what’s coming.

The problem is that they’re so damn nosy.

“Are you texting Cas?” they ask, leaning over his shoulder, trying to get a look. “Are you gonna go kiss your boyfriend when you see him? Do you like him?”

“Well, if I didn’t like him, it’d be kinda awkward, wouldn’t it?” Dean says, pressing his phone into his thigh so they can’t read the screen, because yes, he was texting Cas.

This poor little kid, Alfie, is the smallest one in the bunk. It’s his first year, and Dean thinks he might have skipped a grade, but he doesn’t deal with paperwork unless he’s told to by Gordon. He’s the shyest of the bunch. Dean very rarely hears him talk. He’s got a great glare, though, and it warms Dean’s heart a little that someone so young already has the perfect stinkeye. It reminds him of Sam a little bit.

It’s a Thursday about two or three weeks into camp when the kids start suggesting Dean takes the night off. They don’t use that exact phrasing, though; they ask him when his break will be, since Gordon’s already got his blocked out.

“Why?”

“We think you should go somewhere. Somewhere not at camp. For dinner,” one of the kids, Henry, suggests.

“Why would I eat anywhere but the mess hall? I like the mess hall,” Dean says, and watches as half the boys wrinkle their noses in disgust.

“The mess hall’s food is gross,” Henry says. He’s something of the spokesman for the group. Dean finds it endearing, in an annoying sort of way.

“No, it’s fine. Haven’t you had school cafeteria food?” Dean says. The boys collectively shrug. “Why are you trying to get rid of me so bad?”

“We just think you should have a nice night,” Henry shrugs again, and that’s when Dean starts hearing something of a woman’s touch. Eleven-year-old boys know nothing of romance. They’re still in their girls-have-cooties phase. The tail end of it, perhaps, but it’s still the truth. And Dean knows Charlie, and Jo, and Anna, and all the other girls he’s close to here who have near-daily contact with these boys.

“Did Charlie and Dorothy put you guys up to this?” Dean asks.

“No!” It’s a chorus, too quick to be the truth.

“Uh-huh.”

“She thinks you and Cas need romance,” Alfie says. He’s not part of the crowd, he’s sitting on his bunk with a book. Dean looks over at him.

“She does?”

“She thinks you don’t take him out enough.”

“Well, we live fifteen hundred miles apart, I don’t think I do, either.”

* * *

“Yours too?” Cas says when Dean tells him at dinner. “Sam’s friends, Brady and -- that kid with the thing always in his hair, they were telling me all about this little restaurant in town that I should go to. Neither of them are locals, I checked their files.”

“I think it’s sweet,” Cassie Robinson, the junior counselor for the G-fives, says. Anna nods. “They needed prompting, sure, but they really do care about you guys.”

“Jess won’t shut up about you,” Anna says.

“Jess? Jess Moore?”

“Yeah, she and Sam are friends,” Anna says. “She’s always talking about stories she hears about you two through Sam.”

“What stories?”

“I don’t know, Dean, she was reading them off her phone. I imagine Sam texted them to her.”

“I didn’t know they texted,” Dean says.

“Are you surprised?” Cas asks.

“No, but --”

“Dean, if he wanted to tell you, he would’ve. He’s fourteen. God forbid he’s a little secretive,” Cassie says.

Dean broods on this even after dinner, when they have free time and Dean doesn’t need to be with the kids. He and Cas go down to their spot on the lake and watch the sun set behind the trees on the other side, staining the sky watercolor pink, orange, navy.

“So you wanna go out sometime?” Dean asks casually, head leaning on top of Cas’.

“Sure, you buying?”

“Cas, I have like, no money.”

“You think I do?”

“I think your brother flew me up to Boston on what we’re calling the opposite of a booty call in October and it didn’t even dent his bank statement.”

“He’s rich. My brothers are rich. I’m not.” Dean rolls his eyes. “Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“You just rolled your eyes.”

“There’s literally no way you can know that.”

“Except for the fact that I know you, and I know when you roll your eyes, and you just did, right then,” Cas says, pulling his head off of Dean’s shoulder to look at him.

“Fair enough.” Cas rolls his eyes and leans his head against Dean again.

“Will you put out if I buy?”

“The hell kinda question is that?”

* * *

Dean doesn’t realize it, but Sam and Cas are actually pretty decent friends. It hits him one evening at marshmallows, when Sam sits next on Cas’ other side, a little bit away from his bunkmates.

“Are you gonna come to Thanksgiving again?” he asks.

“If your parents invite me, why?”

“Just wondering,” Sam says, catching his marshmallow on fire and then taking it out of the flames to blow it out, once it’s burned evenly. “By the way, Brady’s still being a weirdo.”

“Do you want me to sit him down?”

“He could use some rebuking,” Sam says, shrugging.

“Okay. Did you ask Jess out yet?” By the light of the fire, Dean can see a blush spread across Sam’s face.

“Cas,” Sam hisses, horrified.

“What?” Dean leans around further. “Is he giving you dating advice? I thought that was supposed to be me.”

“No offense, Dean, but Cas has been on more dates than you.”

“Yeah, with other dudes. I’ve dated chicks before.”

“I dated Meg a few summers back, remember?”

“Yeah, you did, baby,” Meg says, passing by, shoving at Cas’ head teasingly as she does.

“Cas, you had a full-on gay panic because of that date,” Dean says.

“Whatever, he’s still dated more than you,” Sam says. “And no, Cas, but thank you.”

“Go ask her out, right now,” Dean says.

“She’s right there, go ahead,” Cas says, nodding. Sam’s blushing again.

“But --”

“Go,” Dean and Cas say together. Sam makes a noise like a dying whale and skitters away.

“Remember crushes?” Cas says, leaning his head against Dean’s chest.

“Thank god we’re past that,” Dean replies. Cas nods against him.

“Amen to that.”

* * *

“Are you still against forest sex?” Dean asks in an undertone at breakfast during the last week.

“Dean,” Cas says, half warning.

“Cas, I have been jerking off in the showers by myself for too long,” Dean whispers, urgent, fingers squeezing at Cas’, which are interlocked under the table. “I will be happy with grinding with pants on. I won’t even complain about the mess. We can jump in the lake afterward and no one will ever know.” Cas’ face scrunches up. Dean’s shoulders drop, eyes widen. “Did I just say the magic words?”

“Be quiet, I’m thinking,” Cas says. “The stains will be too obvious and we’ll see people between the trees and the dock where we can jump off.”

“Cas,” Dean groans, leaning against him. “I have been so good and not handsy for the past six and a half weeks, haven’t I?”

“Yes, you have. You’ve shown remarkable growth. I don’t even need my other hand to count all the groping incidents.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.”

“I’m not gonna see you for two weeks. Just, so you’re clear, that means I spent seven weeks without you without jumping you, and then I have to go back to not seeing you for two weeks before we go to school, and even then, we’re not gonna be able to as often as we’d like. All I’m asking for is twenty minutes, in the trees, during our free time. I don’t think that’s a lot, do you?” Cas tilts his head, thinking again. “Cas?”

“Meet me at the cabin at our free time.”

* * *

Everyone comments on Dean’s excellent mood the rest of the day. Bobby asks him what’s gotten into him at autoshop and Dean just smiles, sort of goofily, and shrugs.

He’s getting laid this afternoon.

He makes it to Cas’ bunk, the B-fours, and finds Cas waiting outside on the porch. Dean kisses him hello, short and quick.

“The woods?” Dean asks, smirking, one eyebrow raised. Cas shakes his head.

“No.” Cas gets up, takes Dean by the hand.

“Where are we going?”

“Hush.” Cas grabs a bag behind the chair he was sitting in, and leads Dean down the stairs and up the path. He ends up taking them to the staffers’ lodge.

“I thought Bobby wasn’t giving us a night --”

“He’s not. Charlie slipped me the key. She thought we might like a hot shower,” Cas says, unlocking the door, and ushering Dean in.

“Can I buy Charlie dinner?” Dean asks weakly. Cas laughs, closing the door behind him.

“Come on, love,” he says, pulling Dean down the hall. “Charlie promised me the mens’ bathroom would be empty for the afternoon.”

The bathroom in the staffers’ lodge is something Dean only dreams about while he’s at camp. The showers in the cabins are what he imagines a real estate agent would describe as “rustic,” which is just a fancy way of saying “so far in disrepair it’s almost trendy.” The showers run hot for the first three or four showers, and then they’re as cold as the lake water. If someone flushes a toilet while the shower’s running, forget about it. That’s why Dean showers every few days or so and he makes sure he gets the first shower on those days, covering up any stink with deodorant and whatever the freshest shirt he has between them.

The staffers’ lodge showers are brown tile, relatively clean, with no hair in the drains and no signs of prepubescent boys using them. Dean wants to cry and thank any and all gods for this opportunity. Cas locks the bathroom door behind them and starts opening his bag. Somehow, he’s managed to get fresh clothes for Dean, his backup towel, recently back from laundry, and Dean’s body wash. Dean doesn’t ask. It’ll ruin the effect Cas is going for and he knows it.

“I love you,” is all he can really say. Cas just smiles, kisses him as he passes to start the shower. It’s the largest stall. There’s a bench in it. Dean likes the prospect of this.

Cas gets the water going and starts setting up. He puts his shampoo and conditioner, and Dean’s body wash on the corner of the bench, and a smaller bottle of something Dean doesn’t recognize.

“Don’t laugh at me,” Cas warns, coming over and pulling Dean’s shirt over his head for him. “But I made a little trip to the drugstore.”

“Oh?”

“It’s non-water-soluble lube,” Cas says, taking off his own shirt now. Dean presses his lips together. “I told you not to laugh!”

“They make that?”

“It’s silicone-based. Don’t give me that look!” Dean is trying very hard not to laugh. “It’s more efficient.”

“Please don’t ever talk about our sex life being efficient. I love you, babe, but no,” Dean says, taking Cas’ face in his hands and kissing him gently. “Awesome, yes. Incredible, sure. Mind-blowing intense, how did I ever get such an awesome boyfriend, completely acceptable.”

“Oh, shut up,” Cas says. “Why are you still wearing pants?”

“I really don’t know,” Dean says, undoing his fly and letting his shorts fall. He thumbs his underwear off, too, and lets Cas pull him into the shower.

It’s a little tight, largest stall or not. But the water is hot, deliciously hot, and the water pressure is so good that Dean can feel it soothing sore muscles he didn’t know were sore. He feels tension he didn’t know he was carrying melt away.

And then Cas turns him around.

“Babe, what --” Dean hears the click of a bottle being open and shut. “A little, I don’t know, warning, maybe, there, Cas?”

“Not what you think,” Cas says, and even though Dean can’t see him, he knows he’s smiling. And then Cas’ hands are in Dean’s hair, scrubbing, fingers massaging Dean’s scalp, right at the spot Cas knows is sensitive, and Dean shivers.

“Oh, god, that’s nice.”

“I know,” Cas says, sounding just smug enough. He shifts Dean one step over and rinses the shampoo out of his hair. “Your hair’s getting long.”

“I know. Garth said he had clippers, I was gonna hit him up, but I kept forgetting.”

“I like it,” Cas says, and Dean’s eyes fly open in surprise. He turns to look at Cas.

“You do?” Cas shrugs.

“On the top of your head, anyway. It looks nice. Your ears and the back of your neck could use a trim.” Cas’ fingers thread through the hair at the back of Dean’s head, and he pushes Dean’s head down so he can meet his lips. It’s an innocent enough kiss, barring the fact that they’re both totally naked and Cas just told Dean he bought special shower lube. It’s that thought that makes Dean kiss a little hotter, and he knows Cas knows why he does, because Cas responds in kind. When he pulls away, Dean sees that Cas is hard, and he’s already started to stroke his dick. Dean reaches around him, bodies pressing close (so on purpose, Cas thinks, but he doesn’t mind), and hands Cas the lube.

“You buy, you pitch,” Dean says, and Cas snorts, swatting Dean. The wet skin slapping wet skin makes a louder sound than anticipated, which sends them both into a lewd round of giggling as Cas unscrews the bottle, peels off the protective foil, and screws the cap back on before popping it open and slicking up two fingers. They shift, so the spray of the shower is at Cas’ back and Dean is facing the wall with the bench. With his clean hand, Cas takes the back of Dean’s knee and Dean places his foot on the bench, giving Cas better access. Cas presses in with just one finger at first, slow, because it’s been a while. He knows to add a finger when Dean starts pushing back a little more forcefully than before, and he reapplies lube for a third, before Dean starts getting impatient.

“C’mon, Cas, I’m good, you’re too careful,” Dean whines.

“If you can’t sit down tomorrow, people will know,” Cas says, but he pulls his fingers out and drizzles lube onto his dick. Dean switches legs, and Cas takes Dean’s hip with one hand and guides his cock into Dean’s hole with his other. They both groan when Cas is all the way in.

Cas fucks Dean in a way that Dean’s not sure he could ever replicate for Cas. It’s slow-burning even when it’s fast, intense, all his nerve endings feeling like they’re on fire, but in the best way. Cas’ hand comes up and his fingers interlock over Dean’s knuckles, pressed against the tile; his other hand is at Dean’s hip, inches from his cock, which is where Dean would really like it to be. Cas is kissing at the corner where Dean’s neck and shoulder meet, nipping and sucking what is sure to be an obvious and spectacularly huge hickey in the morning.

When Cas’ thrusting becomes erratic, his hand goes to Dean’s cock, and that’s how he knows Cas is close to coming, but he still asks anyway: “You close, baby?”

“Yeah,” Cas pants into his ear. “Fuck.”

Dean thinks it’s because Cas doesn’t swear all that much, it makes it even hotter when he does.

Cas pulls out suddenly, jerking Dean off hard and biting at Dean’s neck, hard, groaning into his skin as he comes across Dean’s ass and back. Dean comes shortly after that, onto the tile wall. He slumps, manages to turn himself around so he can sit. Cas drops to straddle Deans lap and kisses him, messy and open, for a moment.

“You were right,” Cas says, dropping his forehead to Dean’s unmarked shoulder.

“Yeah? ’Bout what?”

“We should’ve done that sooner.”

* * *

Dean passes the B-four cabin on the way up to his father’s truck. He stops in, half to make sure that Sam’s packed up and half to say goodbye.

Sam’s trunk is zipped and ready for moving. He’s sitting on the bare mattress, facing Cas. They both look over when they hear him come in.

“Hey, Sammy, you ready?”

“Uh-huh,” Sam hops off the mattress. “Are Mom and Dad ready to go?”

“Yeah, just go take your trunk to Dad so he can put it in the bed.” Sam nods, turns to Cas.

“I’ll see you at Thanksgiving, I guess,” Sam says, and Cas gets up, nodding. Sam hugs him quickly, like he’s embarrassed that Dean’s seeing it, and grabs his trunk by the handles and carries it out quickly.

“You guys buddies now?” Dean asks.

“He thinks I’m cooler than you,” Cas teases, bringing his arms up to rest his elbows on Dean’s shoulders, forearms crossing lightly behind his head.

“He’s fourteen, everyone’s cooler than me,” Dean says, leaning his forehead against Cas’. “Two weeks.”

“It’ll fly by. Your mom’s gotta be itching to go dorm shopping.”

“Cas, she got me a duvet. I don’t even know what that is.”

“You’ll learn,” Cas says, kissing him once. “Two weeks.” Another kiss. “And then we’ll be in college.”

“Thank god for that.”


	7. Year Seven: Age 19

“I can’t believe you took the job,” Sam says.

“Sammy, it was a promotion. I get guaranteed hot showers and air-conditioned sleeping quarters. How could I not take the job?”

“I don’t know, because you’re nineteen fucking years old and you haven’t spoken to him since fucking Februrary.”

“Hey!”

“What, am I wrong?”

Dean exhales loudly through his nose and doesn’t answer.

Sam has been pissed at him ever since he came home spring break, without Cas. Sam’s barely spoken more than two or three sentences at a time to him. Sam asserts, whenever the topic arises, that Dean is being a child and he should just call Cas, tell him he’s sorry, tell him he loves him, and everything will be okay. Dean has two arguments for this: one, why does Dean have to call, and second, this is assuming that Dean is in the wrong and that’s all he needs to say to make this better.

There is no making this better.

Dean parks the car in the staffer parking lot and Sam gets out as soon as the car’s stopped. He pulls his trunk out of the back seat, and starts down the hill without Dean. Dean sighs, and takes his own trunk out. He goes to the staffers’ lounge, where Ellen is handing out keys and assignments. She comes around the table to hug Dean, maybe a little too tightly for it to be a normal Ellen hug.

“Hey, sweetie,” she says, and that’s how Dean knows she heard about the breakup. “Bobby told you, right? Autoshop.” Dean nods. “Here’s your key.” She hands him a curly lanyard, just big enough to fit over his wrist, with two keys on it, one silver and one gold. “The silver key is to the shop. Gold for your room.”

“Thanks, Ellen.”

“Dinner at five-thirty.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Dean says as he walks past her, and she swats at his arm.

There’s a sticker on his key that has his room number on it. When he gets to his door, he finds it already unlocked. What he finds waiting for him is enough to make him nearly drop his keys.

Castiel Novak is unpacking into his half of the closet. He’s turned to see who his roommate is and his face goes -- there isn’t a word for it, but Dean could describe it as stony.

“Hello, Dean,” he says, neutral, turning back to stacking clothes. Dean half-staggers into the room, dropping his trunk at the foot of the unclaimed bed, on the same wall as the door.

“Ellen didn’t mention --”

“No, she didn’t,” Cas replies coolly. “But she did mention that they’re all full and that they can’t trade roommates.”

“Of course she did.”

“We’ll just have to be civil.” There’s something behind that that Dean doesn’t like, an implication that Dean can sense from years (years) of knowing Cas, and he knows it’s a dig at him but he can’t quite bring himself to channel enough energy to come up with a retort as scathing yet veiled as Cas deserves.

They unpack in silence, and when Dean’s done, he leaves without telling Cas where he’s going. He walks up two flights of stairs to the finished attic-turned-apartment where Bobby and Ellen stay when they want to stay on camp grounds. He doesn’t bother knocking. He knows they’re there.

“Are you out of your minds?” Dean demands, closing the door behind him with a little more force than necessary. “You put me and Cas in the same goddamn room? Do you have any idea what that’s gonna do?”

“A year ago, you were in my office, begging me to lie to your mother and do exactly that,” Bobby tells him. “Excuse me if getting what you want isn’t in your plans, princess.”

“Bobby, we broke up! We haven’t spoken to each other since February!”

“Huh,” Bobby says, feigning surprise. “Musta missed that email.”

“Bobby!”

“Boy, your parents called us when we hired you as a staffer,” Ellen says, coming between them and facing Dean. “They were concerned about you and Cas, and asked if we could keep an eye on you two and make sure you both --”

“We both what, Ellen? Get along? We’re not gonna get along, not after all the shit he said!”

“Sam says it’s your fault,” Ellen says, crossing her arms.

“Sam’s pissed at me because I broke up with his BFF.”

“Well, we can’t move you unless you’d like to sleep in the cabins, so you’re just going to have to deal with this for now.”

* * *

“It’s like the goddamn apocalypse hit or something.”

“I know, they were never gonna break up.”

“What happened?”

“I heard one of them got drunk and slept with someone.”

“I heard Cas was going abroad and didn’t tell Dean, and when he found out he was going away for the next year he flipped out.”

If only they knew, Cas thinks. If only it were that simple. They’d probably still be together.

Cas doesn’t answer any questions people ask at dinner, and people do ask. He flat-out tells them he’s refusing to answer any questions about his and Dean’s breakup, will they please stop asking about it. Eventually, they lose interest and let Cas just sit there, and talk around him about topics other than his failed relationship that was almost the longest-running camp relationship in Camp Wooded Falls history.

“Hey, stranger.” Cas jumps. Charlie and Dorothy are descending upon him, sitting on either side of him. “We heard.”

“Did you hear that I’m refusing to talk about it?” Cas responds, hoping it sounds as scathing as he means it to be.

“We did hear that, yes,” Dorothy says. “But as your fairy gay-mothers who gently nudged you into this direction, we think we deserve at least an explanation.”

“At least?”

“At most, we’d like an apology for our hard work having gone to waste, an explanation, and at least an apology to Dean for whatever you said to him, because you wouldn’t be this surly if it was all on him; if you’re not getting back together, which we might respect, if you tell us,” Charlie says, and she’s smirking, but Cas knows she’s being at least a little bit serious about it.

“I really don’t want to talk about it, Charlie,” Cas says. Charlie’s face falls. Dorothy frowns.

“Well --”

“I’m sure about it, now please, leave me alone about it?”

* * *

They sit at separate fires at marshmallows. Sam doesn’t speak to Dean but exchanges hellos, how-was-your-years with Cas. They seem to avoid the topic of Dean. Dean tries not to stare at them.

“He won’t tell us anything,” Benny says next to him. “We kept asking.”

“Of course he didn’t,” Dean says. “He’d incriminate himself.”

“So will you tell us?” Aaron asks.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“’Cause it’s none of your damn business.”

Dean goes back to the room early, so he beats Cas there. There’s a text message from Mary waiting for him, asking how the room is, who his roommate is. He responds in two words (“fine. cas.”), and turns his phone off. He strips down to his boxers and throws on a T-shirt and gets into his bed. There’s no way for him to lie without the light from the door opening in his face, so he tries his best to angle his face upward and puts his headphones in so the noise doesn’t disturb him.

Cas comes in to a dark room. From the little light let in from the hallway, he can see that Dean is already in bed, either asleep or pretending to be. It’s strangely reminiscent from all those years ago, when he came back from his date with Meg Masters, having been plunged headfirst into a sexuality crisis and he couldn’t even talk to his best friend about it at that moment because Dean appeared asleep.

He shoves that memory aside and tries not to slam the door behind him. Dean does not stir. Cas gets changed and gets into his own bed, and faces himself away from Dean’s. He can hear his breathing and he wishes it bothered him more than it did.

He falls asleep faster than he has in months.

* * *

“You don’t wanna tell us, that’s fine,” Charlie says about a week later. Cas is counting film rolls, determining how many each camper gets, trying very hard to ignore her. “But you’ll feel better talking about it.”

“What the hell do you know about talking about a breakup? You’ve only ever dated Dorothy. You married Dorothy,” Cas says, more hostile than Charlie’s expecting, but she doesn’t let it show.

“You’re right that I married her,” Charlie admits, nodding once. “But we dated other people before each other.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah, there was this girl -- oh, god, Gilda Somebody. Haven’t said that name in a while. She went to camp here. Just three years, G-four, five, and six, I think. We got together sometime in G-five, and oh god, it was the nastiest breakup,” Charlie says, running a hand up her face to rest on her forehead, under new bangs. “Jesus, it rocked the whole camp. I mean, it was the late nineties, but everyone was pretty accepting at camp. Everyone knew. No one could stop talking about it. We had already picked bunks so she slept above me every night. God, it was so awkward. I wanted to die. I’m pretty sure she did, too. She didn’t come back the next year.”

“What happened?”

“I imagine she had other things going on, on top of all the embarrassment --”

“No, I mean, why’d you break up?” Cas has abandoned counting. Charlie thinks, lips pursed.

“I really don’t remember,” she says finally. “I think there was something about long distance again and she was thinking about college and I wasn’t, and I said she was being too big-picture and she said I was too in-the-now, and I think I called her shallow and she called me ignorant? I remember it was bad. But we were so dumb. It happened right by the lake, and anyone who didn’t hear the argument firsthand heard it at dinner that night. Ellen did damage control about it for the rest of the summer. I feel bad, now,” Charlie says, half-smiling. “But the point I’m making is, first of all, had she come back the next summer I’m almost positive we would’ve reconciled. Not gotten back together, but we’d be friends now for sure. Dorothy and I got together and that was it, man. But I spent a lot of time dealing with the hurt, breakup-y feelings and no one should deal with that on their own because they suck. So, when you’re ready to talk about what happened, you let me know, okay?” Cas looks down, back at the film canisters, and nods. Charlie pats him on the shoulder. “Good deal. Oh, Dorothy wants me to ask you to send some photographers over to shoot rehearsals.”

* * *

They’ve been at camp almost a month and Sam still won’t talk to Dean. Dean decides to take matters into his own hands, and he sits across from Sam’s head counselor at lunch.

“How’s he doing?”

“He’s fine.” It’s a short, do-not-test-me answer. Dean hasn’t spoken to Gabriel since Christmas break; he doesn’t blame him for being this way. Cas probably gave him the version where Dean is the Devil Incarnate and Cas didn’t deserve any of this.

“He won’t talk to me.”

“He’s fine, Dean, don’t worry about him. Just let him be.” He tries to walk away now, to where Dean is sure Gabe doesn’t know.

“He hasn’t spoken to me since spring break about it,” Dean says and Gabe turns around.

“Well, shit, Dean, of course he hasn’t! What the hell’s wrong with you?” Gabe half-shouts. “I’m having a hard time not giving you both the silent treatment, either!”

“What?”

“You’re both being morons. Like actual, honest-to-god dumbass morons, and I’ve seen some pretty stupid people in my day. Does Sam know what happened?”

“What?”  
 “You’re like a goddamn broken record. Does Sam know what happened between you and Cas?”

“No.”

“Well, neither do I, so I have no sympathy for you. He’s doing the best he can with a shitty situation provided by you and Cas and the best he can come up with is you fucked up, and Cas fucked up, but Cas isn’t his brother, Cas is his friend, so maybe Cas will tell him something because his brother sure as shit isn’t! And as your friend and Cas’ brother, I know I’m not gonna get jack shit from either of you, so I’ll just sit here and quietly fume to myself about how you two are so stupid that you let yourselves break up over something that, in the grand scheme of your seven-year friendship is so trivial --”

“I get it!” It comes out louder than Dean means it to, and the din of the mess hall lulls, long enough for everyone to look over, and then start whispering to themselves. “Don’t take your shit out on me, man.”

“I will, actually, Dean, because you’re half the problem. My brother’s the other half and I’ll take it out on him, too, if he ever decides to talk.”

* * *

Dean goes out to the spot on the lake where he and Cas used to skip rocks early one morning. He’s having a bad day; he can’t seem to get over two or three skips before the rock sinks. His index finger is sore where the rock hits it as he throws, which has never happened before. He keeps trying, but every time, no more than three skips before it sinks.

“You’re not getting low.” Dean jumps and turns, and sees Cas approaching. Dean turns back around to face the lake.

“Popped my knee in May after I ran into a table in the library,” Dean says. He hears Cas’ feet crunch against the rocky sand. He can just picture him, stubbled from a couple days of not shaving, sitting crisscrossed on the ground with a book in his lap, a button-down shirt and pajama bottoms, and a pair of ratty old sneakers he’s never seen outside of camp, and sometimes Dean wonders if he hides them in a tree up here so he doesn’t have to worry about forgetting them.

“I heard about that,” Cas says. “Amy said you dislocated it.”

“It’s still fucked up.” Dean finds another rock, tosses it up and down a few times, getting the weight of it in his hand, and gripping it properly before throwing it out to the lake. It goes four times before sinking. “Better than nothing, I guess.”

“Sam said I should talk to you.”

“Sam can shove it up his ass.”

“He’s your brother, Dean.”

“Yeah, and he basically hasn’t spoken to me since February,” Dean says, turning around, seeing Cas exactly how he pictured him. “You wanna know why?”

“I know why, Dean, it’s the same reason Gabe’s been pissed at me since I came home for spring break, I don’t need you to spell it out for me.”

“Then why the hell are you taking advice from my brother?”

“Since you won’t.”

“You know what, Cas --”

“Why did you dump me?” It’s a question Dean knows Cas has been sitting on, ruminating on, for far too long.

“What?”

“Why. Did. You dump me?” Cas repeats, slowing it down for him.

“What do you mean, why did I dump you. You dumped me!”

“Like hell I did.”

“Cas, I don’t have time for this.” Dean passes him, rock-skipping forgotten.

“I haven’t heard a valid reason from anyone as to why you broke up with me, you included, so let me hear it. Explain your logic.” Dean turns. Cas is standing up, his book still on the ground.

“Because you were done, and I knew it, and you’d never end it, okay? Is that what you wanna hear? That I knew you were done?”

“What?” Cas’ face is contorted into something like rage or confusion.

“I never saw you, Cas. Never. After Christmas break, you didn’t have time for a date, you were always with that photography professor --”

“This is about Marv?”

“-- all your goddamn art exhibits and wine and cheese tastings and ‘oh, Marv is gonna include my work in the showcase, isn’t that fantastic, he’s such a great artist’ --”

“I cannot believe this is what we’re arguing about.” Cas says, half-laughing. He looks a little crazed. “Dean, he’s well-respected within the New York art community --”

“Cas, no artist I’ve ever spoken to or read about has ever mentioned his name. He’s either a ghost or he’s about as well-respected in the art community as I am in the drama department.”

“He had a very popular exhibit about the deaths of angels in the seventies --”

“Shit, Cas, everyone had a popular exhibit in the seventies. He’s washed up and the only reason NYU keeps him is because he’s tenured. He’s a goddamn leech.”

“You dumped me…because I was spending too much time with Marv?” It’s at this moment that Dean realizes how close they’ve gotten, yelling at each other. They’re inches apart. “Dean, I -- I don’t even know what to say.”

“You were bored.”

“Of you?” Cas asks. His head is tilted, he’s frowning, and he looks so confused Dean could cry. “Dean, I am never bored of you. Trust me, you are full of surprises, this included.”

“You had all your artist friends in their visual arts programs, you didn’t need your undeclared country bumpkin boyfriend hanging around your neck like --”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Dean Winchester, don’t you dare,” Cas interrupts. “Oh. My. God.”

“What?”

“I swear to god, if you pull a stunt like this again, I’ll end you, do you understand? You are -- oh, god, I can’t even. I’m too mad.” He grabs the back of Dean’s neck and pulls him in, kissing him roughly. “You are infuriating,” he says against Dean’s lips, his other hand sliding down to the back pocket of Dean’s jeans.

“Cas, I’m getting some mixed signals here,” Dean manages to say once Cas’ mouth leaves his and he starts kiss-biting his way down Dean’s jawline to his neck.

“Shut up,” Cas growls against his throat. Whatever Cas is doing, it actually feels kind of awesome so Dean shuts up, fists his hands in the back of Cas’ shirt, and lets Cas go to town on his neck, hickeys be damned.

When Cas finally pulls off Dean’s neck, he’s breathing hard and he looks wrecked, but he says, with firmness and resolution, “Do not ever break up with me again because you think I’m bored. I will kill you if you do that. You are not allowed to make those kinds of decisions for me. If you get bored, that’s a different story, but you are not allowed to decide that you know what’s best for me. You and I have been through too much for you to just --” he makes a disgusted, broken sound in the back of his throat. “I could murder you, Dean Winchester. Absolutely murder.”

“I thought -- I thought you knew,” Dean says. “I thought -- all the art shows, and your art friends, and Marv, you were --”

“I am never going to break up with you because you’re boring,” Cas says. “I will never. You are too important to me for that to be the reason. After seven years, you’d think you know that.”

* * *

It takes until lunch for word to get out that Dean and Cas had a steamy makeout session on the shore. Charlie and Dorothy drag them into the theater for a talking-to, but it takes one look, one look at the interlocked hands and the hickey and the heart eyes, that they both look at each other, sigh, and congratulate them on getting back together.

“It only took five weeks,” Benny says, smirking at them at dinner. “Where’s Aaron? He owes me twenty bucks.”

“You went over-under on us getting back together?”

“He didn’t think you’d get back together till your anniversary.”

Sam and Gabe approach their table and sit down opposite them, looking sheepish.

“Hi,” Sam says.

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean says. “What’s up?”

“I’m glad you and Cas are back together.”

“I’m glad you’re done with your hissy fit,” Dean says easily. Sam looks a bit like a kicked puppy.

“Dean, I --”

“It’s okay, Sammy.”

“No, it’s not, I --”

“We’ll talk on the way home, okay?” Sam nods, gets up, slinks away. Gabe stays.

“I’m glad you two are done. Am I ever gonna find out what happened?”

“No,” Dean and Cas say together.

“Aw, come on!”

* * *

When Dean calls home and tells Mary he and Cas are back together, she demands to be put on speakerphone so she can talk to the both of them at the same time. They sit on Dean’s bed, Cas’ back pressed against Dean’s chest, Dean’s phone balanced on Cas’ knee, talking to Mary and John. Mary says she’s “so happy” they’re back together about six times. John congratulates them as they hang up. Cas leans his head up against the crook of Dean’s shoulder. 

“I missed her,” Cas says after a while.

“Her, but not me?” Dean teases. “That hurts, babe.”

“No, I missed you, too. But I missed having a mom to talk to, you know? You’re lucky you have her.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, I just -- Gabe and Mike and Luc try. Mike and Luc aren’t around a lot, but they try in their own ways.”

“Paying for plane tickets.”

“Exactly. And Gabe tries to be accepting enough for him and our father but there’s a difference, between having an older brother and having a parent who loves and accepts you and I just -- I just wish he did sometimes.” They fall silent. Dean realizes something.

“Did you have a bad spring?”

“The worst.”

“It wasn’t the worst because of what I did, was it?”

“You certainly didn’t help.” He turns his head slightly to look Dean in the eye. “I wouldn’t blame it all on you, though. I wanted you to be there, through it.” They’ve shifted now, practically lying down with Dean holding Cas.

“You don’t have to tell me, if you want.”

“I will eventually,” Cas says, not resigned to it but being honest. “But not tonight.”

“Okay.” And Cas reaches up and his hand curls over Dean’s cheek, fingers brushing a five o’clock shadow that could light a match. His thumb rubs across the bow of Dean’s lips. Cas tilts his head up and kisses him, just presses his lips over Dean’s. Dean tilts his head, keeps their lips together, and kisses a little deeper, hand coming to rest on Cas’ hip. They keep kissing, and Dean lies flat and pulls Cas by his hips up to straddle his legs. Cas keeps kissing and Dean keeps touching and before long, they’re rutting up against each other in their shorts, and they’re coming in their pants like they’re seventeen again. Cas goes boneless on top of Dean, panting right by his ear.

“We are never breaking up like that again,” Dean says.

“You’re damn right, we’re not.”


	8. Year Eight: Age 20

“How do you think Sam’s coping?”

“Are you kidding? He’s having the time of his life.”

Dean and Cas are in Cas’ bed in Gabe’s new apartment. It’s early in the morning, too early for anyone to be awake. They leave in three hours for camp, them and Gabe in Gabe’s van, driving up the highway, hurtling toward camp at a speed Dean doesn’t know will make him fear for his life.

Cas has an idea of Dean’s reaction to Gabriel’s driving, but he won’t say anything just yet. It’ll be a fun surprise.

Dean’s shoulders ache from helping Gabe move in. The jerk doesn’t know how to pack boxes. The fact that he has a sleeper sofa is another story entirely. The only plus side to helping Gabe move in is that he hadn’t had to go all the way back to Kansas just to come back up to the northeast, and he’s legally an adult, so Mary can’t force Gabe to institute a separate beds rule.

Not having separate beds is really nice, if Dean’s being honest.

“Do you think he’ll try to ask out Jess this year?” Dean snorts.

“He’s, like, afraid of girls at home, Cas. I doubt it’ll be much different at camp.”

“Well, he’s sixteen.”

“So?”

“So, when you and I were sixteen —”

“Oh, Jesus, Cas, don’t use us as examples for a normal relationship. You kissed me and ran.”

“If I remember correctly, you had to leave.”

“Everyone always tells us how weird it is that we’ve been together this long. Bad example. Besides, we weren’t even together yet, at sixteen.” Cas hums an agreement.

“We almost were.”

“Only because you kissed me, and then we had to deal with it fifteen hundred miles apart,” Dean says, rolling his shoulder, trying to get it to crack. It would feel a lot better if it would just —

“Please tell me that was you and not the bed.”

“My shoulder hurt.”

* * *

Dean manages to not get car-sick enough to vomit on the drive to camp, but he does have to lie down, head in Cas’ lap. Gabe takes out the third row when they go to camp to fit their foot lockers. All three are stacked up to the ceiling in the back, blocking Gabe’s rearview so if someone comes up behind them they’re pretty much screwed, but none of them are thinking about that.

Bobby has assigned Dean to woodworking this summer, which Dean is less-than-thrilled about, but he’ll deal. Woodworking is fun, he tells himself. Besides, he won’t have his car this summer. The Impala’s sitting in Kansas, waiting for him to come back for it. Sam drives it a little, but Dean’s pretty sure Sam doesn’t love it like he does.

Cas has been bumped from photography to the head counselor of the B-fours. This means, of course, that they will not be sharing a room again.

“Of course he did that,” Dean grumbles at the counselor-and-staff-lunch before the campers get there. “The one summer we’re not a thing and he --”

“Dean, what exactly were your plans for us sharing a room this year?” Cas asks, brow furrowed in deep thought. “The walls are thinner than our dorms. I’m not having sex with you like that.” Beside them, Aaron and Benny try to stifle laughter into their respective lunches.

“Not every night, but --”

“No, Dean.”

“Aw, come on, Cas!”

“I said no, Dean. You came home with me before camp and we had lots of sex. You’re coming home with me after camp and before school, so I’m sure we’ll have lots of sex then, too, and there’s a very good chance we’re getting an apartment together with Amy and Pamela, so don’t you worry about not having enough sex during the school year, because we’ll be living together.”

“Is that a gay thing?” Aaron asks as Cas turns back to his lunch and Dean just stares at Cas, lips parted, half turned on and half disturbed. “All the sex?”

“No, it’s a successful relationship thing, moron, try it sometime,” Benny says, smacking him upside the head.

* * *

Sam just keeps growing every time Dean sees him. When they talk on the phone, Dean can hear his voice dropping lower, lower, lower, but not quite settled yet. Mary told him Sam grew past John a month after spring break. Dean lived in vehement denial for weeks, since John’s taller than Dean himself, if only by an inch.

But Sam is standing there in the B-six cabin, and when he stretches to his full height, he’s taller than Dean, and skinny. His T-shirt just sort of hangs on his body, doesn’t really fit him properly. Seven weeks of awful camp food should remedy that, Dean thinks.

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean says, feeling a bit weak. Baby Sammy is taller than him what the fuck.

“Hi, Dean!” Sam booms. He reaches down -- down! -- to hug Dean. Dean can feel Sam’s ribs against him. When Sam lets go, Dean turns on his parents.

“Aren’t you feeding him?”

“His legs are hollow,” John says easily. “You and Cas are taking him back to New York, yeah?”

“Put him on a plane back home at the end of August, yeah,” Dean nods. “Gabe’s got the guest room all ready.”

Mary and John say goodbye soon after that, hugging their boys and heading on their way. Dean and Sam head over to the B-four cabin, where Cas is herding parents and boys to bunks, and answering nervous mothers’ questions, which, really, they should all be over this by now. None of the boys are new anymore.

Cas looks weary after all the parents are gone, not a good sign when it’s only move-in day. Dean lets him cling a little closer -- they’re not ones for PDA on campus, even in such an LGBT-friendly place like New York -- on the way to the mess hall for dinner. Sam talks enough for all three of them, which is just as well since Cas seems too tired to give more than one-sentence responses.

The crop of junior counselors this year, unfortunately, leaves much to be desired. It’s Jo and Anna’s age group, and they’re not the issue. The boys of the group leave little to no impression, neither good nor bad, and the girls, save for a few (Anna and Jo included), seem ditzy at best and positively vapid at worst. Anna and Jo and another girl, a dark-haired girl Dean doesn’t know but looks familiar, sit at the end of the table, slightly by themselves but able to jump into the main conversation if necessary.

Dean had forgotten, as he does every school year, about the bonds of being in the same age group. They end up feeling like family, or something similar to it. It comes crashing back to him when he sits down with Benny and Aaron, and Benny starts in on him, as if they haven’t gone a year without seeing each other, teasing mercilessly about the flop of hair hanging over Dean’s eyebrows, and Dean gives it back as good as he gets about the too-long-to-be-stubble, too-short-to-be-beard thing growing on Benny’s face.

“I mean, look at Aaron! He’s got a very nice beard,” Dean says, reaching across the table to grab Aaron’s chin. Aaron jerks away, half-laughing.

“It runs in the family, leave me out of this,” he says, swatting Dean’s hands away. Cas reaches over and takes Dean’s hands and tangles their fingers, pulling their hands into his lap.

“So how are you guys gonna handle this summer? You’ve gotten a breakup out of your system, right?” Benny says, cocking an eyebrow, taking a bite out of Ellen’s cornbread. “What now?”

“Quickies in the staff bathroom,” Dean says smugly. Cas swats him with the back of his hand, tongue clicking, eyes rolling. “What?”

“I imagine he’ll be clingier,” Cas says breezily. “He got very clingy after Thanksgiving break.”

“Well, yeah, Cas, you went back to Concord.”

“You did?” Aaron and Benny’s eyes are wide. The mention of Concord has Garth’s attention -- Garth, the resident den mother, knows all about Cas’ dad and their drama -- and Harry and Ed, at the end of the table, in their own little world, even look over.

“It was uneventful,” Cas says, generic enough that he doesn’t give anything away and vague enough that they can’t be too concerned without seeming suspicious, or perhaps just nosy. Cas doesn’t really want to get into details, didn’t want to get into details when he got back to school and Dean was waiting in his room, had to tell Dean anyway because he knew he’d go to Gabe if he didn’t.

* * *

Dean’s roommate is this older guy, a buddy of Bobby’s, named Rufus. He worked in woodworking and sometimes autoshop, so Dean knows him, but not well. He floats in and out of Dean’s memory over the summers, sometimes there, sometimes talking to him, but also sometimes not even there that year. Bobby promises he’s a good guy, just takes some getting used to. Dean’s just happy he’s not stuck with Fergus Crowley this year.

Rufus, to the best of Dean’s knowledge, is a single, late-middle-aged guy and a mechanic, what Bobby would’ve been if Ellen’s car hadn’t broken down when Jo was five and she hadn’t been recommended to Bobby’s garage (what he does during the off-season) and he hadn’t asked her for coffee or something after he fixed her car. Rufus is a nice enough guy, Dean thinks. A little rougher than who he’d picture for Bobby’s friends (but then, John Winchester is his friend, too), but still nice enough. He goes to bed earlier and wakes up later than Dean, but he doesn’t seem to have a problem with noise or light because he doesn’t complain. He hasn’t said anything, good, bad, or indifferent, about Cas being over. In fact, Dean’s not even sure he knows who Cas is.

(Most of the counselors/staffers are pretty aware of Dean and Cas’ relationship, much like they’re aware of Charlie and Dorothy’s.)

It’s actually not a bad deal, if Dean’s being honest. If he had to pick, it’s the second-best, after being roomed with Cas. Rufus doesn’t try to engage in conversation often, but when he does Dean’s happy to talk.

Because Rufus is actually here this summer, he’s working, which means that he spends his weekdays flitting between the autoshop and the woodshop, supervising Benny and Dean, respectively. Rufus’ definition of supervising mostly means making ornery late-middle-aged man noises about what Dean’s doing and telling the kids to not cut their fingers off, which Dean thinks might scare them a bit.

Jo, the junior counselor for the G-sixes, is sitting in on woodworking today for some reason. She told Dean upon her arrival that archery didn’t need any more “adults,” but Dean finds that a little hard to believe. She’s perched on an unfinished table pushed up against one wall, next to the table with the unused chop saws, watching the kids working on their camp-long projects. She’s mostly there to annoy Dean, he knows, but she’s nice company, especially since Cas is off canoeing or something.

“Harvelle, get the hell off that thing, it ain’t even stained yet.” Rufus comes in, grumpy probably because Benny was doing something “wrong.” Jo hops off, but smiles her charming, love-me-because-you-love-my-stepdad smile.   
 “Sorry, Rufus,” she says, sugar-sweet and sincere. He rolls his eyes, but shoots her a quick grin.

“How’s it going in here?” Rufus asks Dean, who’s running sandpaper over the curved top of what will be a mantle clock or a carriage clock or something like that.

“No one’s been injured, if that’s what you mean,” Dean says, looking up.

“Good. Ellen says to tell you and Cas and Sam to come to dinner on Friday,” Rufus says. Dean nods once.

“Thanks.”

“You hear that, Harvelle?” Rufus turns, shouting over the noise of a jigsaw in action. “Dinner on Friday at your house!”

“Got it!”

* * *

Dean and Cas walk, hand in hand, down the path through the forest that leads to the backyard of the Harvelle-Singer house. Jo and Sam walk a few paces ahead, chatting about something.

“How’s counselor-ing going?” Dean asks.

“It’s fine,” Cas says. “I miss photography.”

“Cas, you’re a visual arts major. All you do during the school year is photography.”

“And for the seven weeks I don’t do it, I miss it,” Cas says, swinging their interlocked hands a bit. “I was thinking. Can you model for my fall portfolio? I haven’t used you as a model in a long time.”

“Sure.” Dean shrugs, jerking their hands up and down.

Bobby’s house sits right by the river that leads into the lake. In the fall, when Dean and Sam would come for Thanksgiving, it was gorgeous, with all the different colored leaves everywhere and the smoke coming from one of the chimneys. In the summer, it’s not too bad, either. It’s a bit of a clearing, but the trees around it give enough coverage that most of the yard is shaded, protected from the sweltering heat the camp is naturally exposed to, being in a clearing.

Bobby is waiting for them on the back porch, and stands up when they come up the stairs, Jo and Sam two at a time. They exchange hellos, hugs, comments on sunburns (Sam, right across his nose) and freckles (Dean, all over) and tans (Jo and Cas).

Ellen is mixing a salad when they come in, stacks of raw steaks ready for the grill on a heatproof tray at the end of the island. Ellen puts the salad in the fridge to settle (“It’s better when the dressing’s really permeated the salad, trust me”) and they go into the living room to chat. Ellen isn’t much of a presence on the campground like Bobby is; she’s there for move-in and move-out day and sporadically in between, but she doesn’t come down two or three times a week religiously like Bobby does. So, Dean and Cas and Sam very rarely see her.

* * *

After dinner, Bobby walks with them back to the camp. They’re a few minutes late to marshmallows, but Sam quickly takes up a place between Jess and that dark-haired girl Dean saw in the mess hall that he doesn’t know the name of.

“Hey, Jo, who’s --”

“Ruby Somebody,” Jo says before he can finish his thought. “She dyed her hair and stopped wearing the colored-contacts. Guess she grew out of her valley-girl phase.”

“How did you know I was gonna ask?”

“Because your brother’s kind of making heart eyes at her and that freaks you out because you thought he was in love with Jess Moore,” Jo says, and Dean has to double-take and sure enough, he’s talking to both of them but there’s something in his eyes whenever he looks at the girl -- Ruby -- that Dean saw when Sam was looking at Jess for the last four summers.

* * *

Dean wakes up to someone pounding on his door the morning after dinner with Bobby. Rufus is already up, grumbling swear words under his breath as he answers the door. Cas is standing there and he brushes past Rufus with a quick “good morning” and going to Dean’s bed.

“Sam’s missing.”

“What?”

“His counselors can’t find him.” Dean sits up, trying to work through the fog of sleep to process what Cas is saying.

“You don’t know where he is?”

“No, but a girl from the G-sixes is missing, too.”

“All you teenagers need to go to church or synagogue or somethin’,” Rufus grumbles, going back to bed. “Keep it down, wouldja, I’m goin’ back to sleep.”

Dean finds his flip-flops and a sweatshirt and goes outside with Cas. Sam’s counselor is this big black guy named Raphael whose twin sister (Dean can’t remember her name, something with an R that sounds a lot like Raphael) was Jo’s last year. He’s standing there in a button-down and khaki shorts, arms crossed over his chest.

“We found them,” he tells Cas.

“What?”

“Winchester. He was with the girl from the G-six cabin.”

Over his shoulder, Dean and Cas can see Gabe walking down the path towards them, one hand on Sam’s shoulder, the other on Ruby’s. Sam looks mortified. Ruby looks pissed, or like she smells something bad.

“They were in the extra cabin,” Gabe says. “She says they fell asleep there.”

“We did!” Ruby insists. Sam just looks more and more like he’d like to hide somewhere far, far away.

“Does Bobby know?” Raphael asks Gabe. Gabe nods.

“Radioed as soon as I found them,” Gabe says. “He’s calling their parents.”

“What?” Sam looks at Gabe, newfound terror covering up mortification.

“Kid, you were gone for at least six hours,” Gabe says. “Also, he said to put you both on probation.” Ruby rolls her eyes and steps away from Gabe, his hand falling from her shoulder.

“Can I go back to my cabin now?” she asks. Gabe looks at Raphael, who nods once.

“Sure, Ruby.” And with that, she’s gone. Gabe looks at Dean.

“You wanna --”

“Sam,” Dean says. Sam looks at him. Gabe nods once, and then motions with his head to Raphael that they should go. Cas stays.

“Do you want me to go?”

“Go back to bed, Cas,” Dean says, not breaking eye contact with Sam. “We’ll go for coffee later, ’kay?”

“Okay,” Cas says, squeezing Dean’s hand once and giving Sam a sympathetic look before going back to his cabin.

Sam and Dean are alone.

“Ruby?” It’s the first thing Dean can think of to say. “Really, Ruby?”

“I knew you were gonna act like that,” Sam mutters, hands in his sweatpant pockets. “See, that’s why I didn’t wanna tell you yet, and --”

“Sam, the girl’s certifiable and you know it! When the hell’d she get close with you and Jess?”

“End of last summer,” Sam shrugs. “She was nice.”

“You gotta be some kinda stupid -- are you dating her?” Sam looks at the ground. “Sam? Are you?”

“Not really, no,” Sam mumbles. “But she --”

“She what, Sam? Flirted a little, was nice to you, promised you candy, what?”

“She told me Jess was seeing someone else, okay? She told me that Jess wasn’t interested so I should stop mooning over her like a loser and then she said she knew someone else who was available and then she -- I don’t know, okay. It just happened.”

“You slept with her?” Dean’s voice rises an octave. Sam tries to shush him. “You slept with Ruby? God dammit, Sam, are you outta your mind?”

“Shut up!” Sam hisses.

“Sam, you’ve been in love with Jess since you were twelve! What the fuck are you doing with her?”   
“I don’t know, okay? I fucked up!” Sam says, whisper-shouting because it is ungodly early and people are sleeping all around them. “I fucked up big and I don’t need my brother shouting at me about it because I know I did, so could you maybe not?”

* * *

While getting coffee with Cas, Dean gets a call from his mother, seething with rage about Sam’s being on probation at camp. Dean tries to explain that it really just means he can’t use his free time and has to be with a counselor or staffer, virtually at all times, or go to marshmallows for the next two weeks, but she won’t be reasoned with. By the time Dean gets off the phone with her he’s in a bad mood all over again.

“That was his first time, Cas,” Dean says lowly at the table in the mom-and-pop coffee shop half a mile from camp. “And he’s not even dating her.”

“Are you sure? I’m talking about it being his first time. I know they’re not dating.”

“Positive. He would’ve called me in a panic if he’d had sex before.”

“Poor boy,” Cas says, taking a sip of his latte. Dean frowns at him. “What? Dean, just picture for a second, your first time.”

“Okay.”

“Now, try and substitute me in for a stranger.”

“But Ruby’s not a stranger.”

“She’s not his girlfriend, either. And, from what you’ve told me and what Jo’s said about her, she doesn’t care about his feelings, so she might as well be a stranger.” Cas takes another sip of his latte. “He’s probably really embarrassed. Just leave him alone for a while, he’ll come to you.”

“And how do you know that?” Dean asks, skeptical.

“I’m a little brother, too.”

* * *

It’s two weeks before the end of camp when Sam gets his free time and marshmallows privileges back. He hasn’t spoken to Dean, or Cas, or even Gabe, and it’s clear he’s not talking to Ruby or Jess. Jess is sitting close to Jo at the table in the mess hall now, and Ruby isn’t talking to anyone, and glaring at anyone who tries to talk to her. Dean walks past the G-six cabin one day and sees Jo hugging Jess, but he doesn’t stop, just keeps walking.

Jo appears in the woodshop a few days later.

“Have you talked to Sam?” she asks, settling herself in the stool by Dean’s workspace. He’s working on a bedside table for the apartment he and Cas will share. He’s sanding it now, and if he gets it done before dinner, it’ll be ready for staining on Monday. He glances at her.

“No, why?”

“He’s not talking to Jess, and she’s upset. She knows he and Ruby -- you know. But she wants to know why he’s not talking to her.”

“Ruby told him she was dating someone. Also, he’s embarrassed to all hell. He hasn’t talked to me since he got in trouble.” Jo frowns.

“Jess said she’s not dating anyone.”

“What?”

* * *

The last night of camp, Dean and Cas corner Sam in the mess hall.

“You fucked up,” Dean says.

“What he means,” Cas interjects when Sam looks hurt, “is that you’re sixteen and it’d be a shock if you didn’t mess up. But that doesn’t mean you should ignore your friends.”

“I’m not ignoring --”

“Jess misses you, dude,” Dean says. “Jo told me. Go talk to her.”

“But I slept with Ruby.”

“And she doesn’t care! She’s your best friend here and she still cares about you so go and let her give you a fucking hug, okay?” Sam still looks like a kicked puppy, chewing on his lip, but he nods. “Thank Christ.”

Dean and Cas take up their spots at the counselor/staffer table with Aaron, Benny, and the others, and they watch from a relatively safe distance as Sam timidly approaches the G-six table, where Jess is talking to Jo.

“What’s going on?” Aaron asks, watching too.

“He hasn’t talked to her since before probation,” Dean says. Benny sits up a little to look over Aaron’s head.

“Are they gonna --”

And then Jess is up with her arms around Sam’s neck, hugging him, and Sam is staggering backward under her sudden weight, hands awkwardly at her waist, hugging her back.

“How the hell did that boy make it through sex, I’ll never know,” Charlie mutters. Dorothy smacks her arm. “What?”


	9. Year Nine: Age 21

There’s something exhilarating about the lake.

It’s the morning of the first day of camp. They came up a day early, having spent the night at the Singer-Harvelle house just outside camp property lines. Jo is fresh off her second year of college, preparing for a semester abroad when camp ends, and Bobby and Ellen wanted to spend a little time with their three favorite counselors/staffers.

Jo has moved up in ranks this summer to staffer. She’ll be working archery, something she couldn’t be more thrilled about. Bobby promised Dean at Thanksgiving (in Kansas; Gabe and Cas came; Gabe almost destroyed the house trying to brown the marshmallows of his sweet potato casserole) that Dean could work autoshop this summer. Cas, after much thought and self-conflict and an ultimatum from Dean (“I swear to god, Cas, just decide, or I’ll pick for you”), Cas is the head counselor for the B-sevens. He’d told Bobby to put him wherever he needed him, and Sam’s age group was, apparently, the one. Cas doesn’t think he’s qualified to train them as CITs, but he doesn’t get much of a choice now.

They woke up early this morning, and they’re sitting out on their spot, wrapped up in sweatpants and sweatshirts and sitting on an old ugly plaid blanket they found in the linen closet. They’re sharing a thermos of coffee (they argued about how to make it so Dean just left it black), Cas’ back pressed into Dean’s chest, resting his head against the front of Dean’s shoulder.

“I heard Dorothy’s pregnant,” Cas says.

“What?”

“Dorothy is pregnant,” Cas repeats, slowly, as if he were talking fast the first time. Dean swats his thigh.

“I know, I heard you. What?”

“She and Charlie just had their four-year anniversary, and you know they like kids.”

“But they’re, like, kids themselves.”

“Dean, they’re eight years older than us, at least.”

“Are you sure she’s pregnant?” Dean sounds whiny, like he doesn’t want to believe it.

“I heard it from Anna.”

“Oh, Jesus, Cas, she gets her gossip thirdhand and you know it.”

“We’ll just have to wait and see, then.”

* * *

Staff is supposed to arrive by eleven-thirty. Dorothy and Charlie’s rickety yellow Gremlin, which Dean has offered to fix many times, doesn’t appear until twelve-fifteen. Charlie is disheveled, even more so than usual, dragging two oversized suitcases and carrying two backpacks over her shoulders. Dorothy is wearing one of her signature dresses that Dean is sure he’s seen before and a pair of sunglasses, and watches as her wife refuses help from everyone, Dorothy included, as they make their way to the staffers’ lodge. She takes their room key -- they always room together -- from Ellen and Charlie refuses help when Ellen offers.

“She’s been a nightmare,” Dorothy says as she sits next to Dean in the mess hall. From what Dean’s gathered, Dorothy is, in fact, pregnant, but not very far along at all. She’s barely showing, and she still fits into most of her clothes. “I’m not allowed to do anything. I wake up in the middle of the night and she’s up, reading some horror story on the internet about how some poor woman carried a load of laundry up the stairs and her baby came out with three heads and a tail.”

“Cas’d be the same way if I could get pregnant, don’t worry. I think it’s a daddy issues thing,” Dean shrugs. Cas smacks him upside the head. “Ow!”

“I heard that,” he says, sitting down on Dean’s other side. Charlie slides into the seat across from them and looks at Dorothy’s tray.

“Dot, honey, you’re not supposed to be eating peanut butter.”

“Babe, the doctors said there wasn’t a real correlation and seeing as no one in my family is allergic to peanuts, I think a little peanut butter won’t hurt.” It’s sugar-sweet and gentle and Dean knows that if they don’t change the topic fast, he and Cas will have to deal with two hormonal, angry women and even though they spent the year with Amy and Pamela, they’re still not good at it.

“Charlie, when are you gonna let me take a look at that tin can you’re driving around? Seriously. It’s not supposed to rattle like that.”

* * *

Being head counselor means sleeping in the cabin with the boys. Dean knows this. Cas knows this. What they forget -- mostly Cas, but Dean sometimes, too, when he seriously considers being a counselor again -- is that that means sharing a bathroom and living space with eight to ten prepubescent or adolescent boys for seven weeks. Things get a little hairy (sometimes literally).

And it’s not as if Cas can’t handle it. He grew up sharing a bathroom with Gabriel Novak, for Christ’s sake. He can handle mess. He can handle rowdy teenage boys. Sam Winchester is the least problematic of the bunch, which doesn’t surprise him. But the other boys -- Cas hates them. Cas very rarely hates people and he hates these boys. They are the pinnacle of rude, spoiled children that remind Cas of what he went to school with in Massachusetts.

Which is why, about four weeks into camp, Dean drags Cas into the staff bathroom after marshmallows on a Friday night before Lazy Weekend.

“Dean, I literally haven’t slept more than four hours at a time since camp started, I literally cannot do anything --”

“Would you shut up and get in the shower?” Dean interrupts. Cas looks down, barely registering the fact that Dean has completely undressed him in the bathroom, save for his flip-flops. Dean holds out his spare towel. “I am so done with you complaining about the state of the B-seven showers. I’ve lived through them once, I don’t need to again. Go.”

“But --”

“I’ll be in my room.”

And with that, Dean leaves.

Cas enters Dean’s room half an hour later, hair damp and hanging in pointed tendrils on his forehead, droplets of moisture bleeding through the T-shirt (Dean’s, and so are the sweatpants), clutching Dean’s spare bath towel in a wad in front of him. Dean sits up on his bed and starts to get up, but Cas drops Dean’s towel somewhere close to Dean’s hamper and curls up into Dean’s side.

“Hey,” Dean says, a little surprised.

“Hi,” Cas says, sounding small.

“Everything okay?”

“That was a really nice shower,” Cas says. “I forgot how nice it was.”

“Last time you were in there, we weren’t really focusing on getting clean.” Cas laughs, and it’s a tired sound. It worries Dean, just a little. “You wanna stay here tonight?”

“Am I allowed?”

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” Dean says, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. Cas manages to get into an upright, sitting sort of position and leans against Dean, until they’re pressing into the mattress together. Dean adjusts himself until he’s on his side, and opens his arms just enough for Cas to slide into Dean’s chest and Dean folds his arms around Cas’ back. Cas breathes in Dean, nose right at his neck. He breathes in the remnants of the garage, of rubber tires and motor oil; Dean’s soap, which is overwhelming because he can smell it on himself, too; and the camp, with its fifteen different kinds of trees and mulch Bobby makes and smoky campfire haze mornings after marshmallows and lakeshore sunrises that have a smell Cas can’t name, but he knows it and has it so deeply associated with Dean it shocks him when Dean doesn’t smell like it in New York, just for a fraction of a second.

“Hey, are you okay?” The front of Dean’s shirt is wet. Cas didn’t even register that he was crying.

“Yeah -- no. Maybe?” Cas reaches a hand up and wipes at his eyes. “I really hate being head counselor.”

“You didn’t last year,” Dean says, reaching up to wipe the tears Cas is missing.

“I didn’t think I’d end up in it again, much less with the CITs. And they’re -- they’re awful kids, Dean. Except for Sam, obviously, but they’re just — god, Dean, I hate it.”

“So tell Bobby next year that you don’t wanna be a counselor.”

“But —”

“But nothing, Cas. You hate it, why keep doing it?” Dean extricates one arm, reaches over and turns out the lamp. “Sleep, babe. we’ve got the weekend.”

Cas is out in minutes.

* * *

When he wakes up, his head is on Dean’s chest, and Dean’s arm is wrapped around him, fingers curling loosely at his waist. Dean’s free arm is holding up his battered copy of To Kill A Mockingbird, which Cas never goes to camp without anymore. Cas shifts, just slightly, and Dean looks down.

“’Morning,” Dean says.

“Hi,” Cas responds, stretching an arm out behind him, accidentally hitting the wall with the back of his hand.

“Do you really hate being a head counselor?” Dean asks, setting the book down and shifting so he can look at Cas better. Cas looks at Dean’s shirt. “Cas?”

“It’s complicated,” he says finally. “I don’t hate the part where I’m in charge and I get to talk to kids and everything. But I hate being in charge of the CITs and I hate dealing with them.”

“So next year request a younger group?” Dean says, half-question, half-suggestion. Cas shrugs against him. “Okay.”

“I miss photography.”

“You spend all your time there, don’t you?”

“Not when they have a group activity. Which is a lot. Because they’re CITs.” Dean nods. He remembers the pointless, stupid group-bonding activities that involved shit like all eight of them standing on a one-foot-squared platform. Gabe spent these activities, after explaining them, mostly laughing his ass off at them. Dean thinks that had more to do with the fact that it was Cas and Dean and their friends, but he’s not entirely sure.

“Well, now you know,” Dean says. “You hate being the CIT counselor.”

* * *

Lazy Weekends are much-loved and rarely experienced, happening only once a summer, although the only real difference between them and a normal weekend is the activities, or lack thereof. Campers bum around for the most part, sitting in the grass or by the lake, hanging out with the friends they might not see during a regular camp day. When Dean and Cas finally leave Dean’s room, they see Sam walking with Jess. Jess is wearing Sam’s sweatshirt. Dean smirks at him, and Sam blushes and picks up their pace, leading Jess far away from his brother.

“You shouldn’t tease him like that,” Cas says. “Remember last year?”

“Of course I do. Mom and Dad flipped a shit when they found out what happened.”

“And you still --”

“Cas, he’s ass over teakettle for her. It’s fair game.”

All the meals of Lazy Weekend are comfort food: mac and cheese (not from a box, surprisingly), grilled cheese, lasagna, chicken nuggets. At lunch, Dean counts the kids who aren’t wearing pajamas (he can count them on both hands). The younger kids look drowsy, as if their counselors just woke them up to make sure they ate. The older kids lean into each other and pick off communal plates in the middle of the table, their comfort levels with each other sky-high in comparison to the younger ones, who don’t know each other as well.

The staffer table is a bit like that, too, with less leaning into each other, with the exception of Dean and Cas and Dorothy and Charlie. Jo is leaning into Aaron a little bit but Dean thinks it’s all the time spent in archery and less to do with any real physical attraction. Anna and Chuck at the end of the table look a bit cozy, too, but Dean doesn’t think about that. Aside from Anna being family (Cas’ cousin, so that practically makes her his cousin, too), Chuck’s got seven years on her. Ew.

Cas checks in with his junior counselor to make sure the boys are doing okay. Lazy Weekends are easy, and the junior counselor — a very nice kid named Ben Braeden, of “Hot Mom Braeden” fame — tells Cas as much. The boys are behaving, according to him. Cas makes a skeptical face, starts saying something about doing his job, and Dean peels him away from the cabin.

“Babe, they’ve got it. Bobby said you need a weekend off.”

“When did you talk to Bobby?”

“Right after you decided you needed to go check on the cabin,” Dean says. “It’s Lazy Weekend. Be lazy.”

* * *

Sunday morning finds them through the window opposite Dean’s bed, hazy, cloud-muted sunlight shining a perfect spotlight on their faces, which are inches apart. It wakes Cas up first, but when he opens his eyes he can see Dean’s eyelids fluttering and then scrunching up against the light.

“Time is it?” Dean whispers, voice still working through sleep, trying, but not really, to sit up. Cas picks his head up just high enough to see the cheap digital alarm clock on the bedside table.

“The kitchen’s not even open yet,” Cas whispers back. Dean groans, head falling back to his pillow.

“Fucking hell,” he grumbles. Cas laughs, quiet, just once.

“Good morning,” he says quietly, right by Dean’s ear.

“I hate you,” Dean says, rolling into Cas and burying his face in Cas’ shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Cas says, barely audible, right into the mouthful of hair he now has. Dean’s arm snakes around and pulls Cas’ torso into him. Cas rests a hand on Dean’s shoulder blade, tracing tiny circles there. Dean arches into Cas’ hand. Dean’s nose ends up pressed to the base of Cas’ throat, lips at his collarbone, mouthing at the skin there, barely enough to feel it, but Cas does. He tilts his head back and Dean works his way up his neck to the corner of Cas’ jaw, kissing a little more insistently.

“Dean, we don’t have anything,” Cas says, eyes closing when Dean starts sucking on the spot below his ear. “We can’t — oh.” Dean laughs against him. Cas can’t find the willpower to retort, or finish his previous thought.

“Just like this, babe,” Dean says, hand sliding down from the other side of Cas’ neck to the top of the sweatpants he’s wearing. He undoes the ties and slips his hand under the waistband, teasing lightly at the skin between his hipbones.

Cas doesn’t wear underwear when he sleeps.

Dean slips his hand further down and grasps at the base of Cas’ cock loosely and starts stroking slowly. Cas is half-hard, but he finds himself rocking up into Dean’s hand, begging for more, harder, faster. He can feel Dean’s dick grinding against his hip, almost in sync with Dean’s hand.

Cas tilts his head and finds Dean’s lips, and Dean moans into the kiss when Cas opens his mouth against his. Cas’ hands are everywhere on Dean, and they find his hips and pull him over on top of him without breaking the kiss, Dean’s hand caught in between them. Dean’s knees find the mattress, and he sits back and takes his shirt off before sitting Cas up and taking the tank top he fell asleep in off, too. Cas pulls Dean back down and kisses him, open-mouthed and filthy, one hand in his hair and the other cupping his ass, pulling him closer, closer, closer. It’s because of that that their hips slot together perfectly and when Dean rocks forward Cas moans, surprised and maybe just a little too loud, into Dean’s mouth, his own hips bucking up in response.

It’s over too quick, but they come together, grinding against each other. Dean collapses on top of Cas, head dropped over his shoulder, sweaty and panting. Cas’ fingertips trace up and down Dean’s spine, nuzzling his face against the side of Dean’s head, pressing tiny kisses to his cheekbone.

“Remind me again why it took us a month to do that,” Dean says when he starts thinking again.

“Because I can’t sneak into your bed every night,” Cas responds. Dean slides off Cas, lying face-down next to him. They’re both sticky and uncomfortable, but Dean feels too boneless to do anything about it.

Cas, on the other hand, is not, so he shucks off the sweatpants and peels Dean’s boxers off him and throws them somewhere on the floor.

“Naked cuddling?” Dean says, and Cas can hear the suggestiveness. He pulls Dean into his chest.

“Go back to sleep.”

* * *

They end up in the bathroom an hour later anyway, and manage to give each other very quiet blow jobs in the same shower stall, in case anyone came in. They walk to the mess hall holding hands, past sleepy, comfy-clothes-wearing campers.

“Oh, god,” Benny groans when Dean and Cas sit down at the staffer table. “You guys did not.”

“They did,” Aaron says, not looking up from his battered paperback sci-fi novel. Dean frowns.

“What?”

“You guys had sex,” Benny says. “I know it. In the showers? Jesus, I have to shower there, too!”

“What the —”

“It wasn’t just in the showers, for your information,” Cas says, grabbing the silverware from Dean’s tray and separating the food on both trays into what each of them will end up eating. “We had sex in his room, too.”

“Cas!”

“What? They brought it up. I’m just being honest.”

“Be less honest,” Dean says. “It’s none of your goddamn business where we fuck, either, by the way,” Dean rounds on Benny and Aaron. “And neither of you were in the bathroom at the time.”

Aaron chokes on his coffee. Benny just looks disappointed and slightly skeeved out. Charlie looks over at them.

“Oh, stop it. Like you two wouldn’t be bumping uglies with girls on Lazy Weekend if you could,” she says. “It’s tradition.”

“I got no issue with them going at it. They’re in a loving and monogamous relationship —”

“Please don’t ever refer to my relationship with Cas as ‘loving and monogamous,’ that’s disgusting.”

“— but I don’t wanna know where they’re having sex.”

“Then don’t even mention the post-sex haze they’re clearly in when you see them,” Dorothy says, twisting her hair up into a messy bun. “See how that works?”

All four boys look over at them.

“Shit,” Benny groans, dropping his head to the tabletop. “They did it, too.”

* * *

By the last week of camp, Dorothy is definitely showing. Her staffer T-shirt is snug across her abdomen and she’s taken to wearing tank tops under them because the hem of it sits just a little too high for her liking.

Charlie, when she’s not supposed to be working on the set or helping with costumes, is Dorothy’s unofficial assistant director, doing everything Dorothy says needs to be done, even if Dorothy says she can do it.

“She needs to calm down,” Dorothy says at lunch, one hand resting on her new bump. “I swear to god, if we have another, she’s having it. Let’s see how she likes it.

“I’m telling you, daddy issues,” Dean says. Dorothy rolls her eyes and laughs a little. “You’ll be much more relaxed about it if she’s the pregnant one.”

“You’re damn right I will be.”

But it’s strange, Dean thinks, watching the two of them at marshmallows and around the camp, Cas usually next to him. They met here. They fell in love here. Instead of going on their honeymoon right after their wedding, they came here, to a summer camp in New England with barely three hundred people total. They love this place fiercely, their very best and very worst memories — from what he’s heard from them about the mess that was Charlie’s first relationship — taking place here.

Although, Dean thinks, as Cas leans into him on the last marshmallows of the summer, a Wednesday night, he can relate.

“Next year, I’m staffing,” Cas says quietly, more to Dean’s neck than to Dean.

“Oh?”

“I talked to Bobby this morning.”

“Good. Photography?”

“Gonna build a portfolio before I start applying for real jobs,” Cas says, nodding, the movement rocking Dean’s shoulder. “Because we’ll be graduates by then.”

“Ain’t that terrifying.”


	10. Year Ten: Age 22

“So you guys are the new Charlie and Dorothy.”

Dean and Cas look up from the newspaper they’re reading together at the staffer table at breakfast two days into camp. Dean is sitting half-sideways, one leg over the bench so Cas can sit with his back in Dean’s chest. It’s not terribly interesting but lately Cas has been feeling more and more like a grownup, so Dean reads it with him and makes fun of articles when he sees an opportunity.

Sam is standing on the other side of the table, one knee resting on the bench, hands on the table, supporting himself. Senior year has bulked him up. He’s not rail-thin anymore. He’s got football player shoulders and muscles Dean didn’t know Sam had. His hair is still a shaggy mess, though, and it falls into his eyes when he leans over, making him toss his head around to get it out of his face.

“Excuse me?” Dean says.

“Everyone’s talking about it. Charlie and Dorothy are cute and all but they’re, like, Bobby and Ellen status now. You guys are the new hot couple.” Dean and Cas exchange a look. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“The creepy telepathic communication with your eyebrows. It’s weird.”

“Sam, what good does telling us we’re the ‘new hot couple’ -- which we’re not, we’ve been together for six years, breakup ignored -- do for you?” Cas asks. Sam leans back to standing regular, holds up his hands in surrender.

“Just thought you should know.” He walks away, back to his table (B-fives, the kids Dean had his last year being a counselor).

“What a weirdo,” Dean mutters, sitting up straighter and then slouching again.

“Was that a warning?” Cas asks, turning the newspaper to the Arts section.

“I don’t know what that was.”

“Have you told him?”

“I haven’t even told my mom, Cas.” Cas laughs against him. “I’m serious, I gotta tell her before I tell Sam, she’ll kill me.”

“No, she won’t.”

“You remember my mom, right? Blonde, threatened Chuck with death our first year? Scares the shit out of your brother?” Dean remembers something. “Have you told Gabe?”

“No.” 

* * *

Bobby has finally -- finally -- let them room together again. Well, Bobby had very little to do with it, Dean thinks. Ellen handed him the room key with a smile, and then made a big show of checking where Cas was before handing him an identical key. To a room with two twin-sized beds.

They’d become accustomed to the king-sized bed John and Sam drove up for them during Sam’s week off in October (Dean’s old mattress; still good, just unused since Dean went to college). But this mattress, in their tiny one-bedroom apartment barely a block away from NYU, is miles away and currently in use by Pamela and her parade of boys. And they have two dorm-sized beds to deal with.

The first night was awkward and uncomfortable. Dean is something of an octopus in his sleep and he was used to waking up plastered to Cas. It didn’t help that they were obviously so close to each other; they could hear the other breathing. The second night, Cas woke up around two in the morning and, half-awake and groggy, crossed the room and curled up with Dean in his bed. Dean woke up to pins and needles in his arm and a little sweaty, but legs tangled and Cas’ hand on his face.

It was then that they decided to push the beds together. Dean left camp that afternoon -- no one in the autoshop, and dinner was in two hours -- and drove to Target and bought a mattress connector.

When Jo and Sam find out, they laugh themselves silly.

“You’re both codependent weirdos,” Jo says when she can breathe again. Sam just keeps sending himself into new rounds of laughter.

“I have a hard enough time without the city noises,” Cas says, dismissive. “Not to mention I spent the last two summers in the cabins. I think I’ve earned sharing a bed with Dean at camp.”

“Charlie and Dorothy do it, too,” Dean points out. Sam raises an eyebrow.

“You’re not doing well with your ‘we are not the new Charlie and Dorothy’ argument there,” Sam says.

“Bobby and Mom make sure they get a room with a bigger mattress,” Jo says. “Because they’re married and shit.”

As if on cue, Dorothy and Charlie sit down next to them. Dorothy is wearing a baby carrier, with a chubby six-month-old wearing a striped short-sleeved T-shirt who is babbling very happily inside.

“Char, can you --?” Dorothy motions to the baby. “Hey, kids.” Charlie is reaching over the table, undoing the baby carrier hooks and straps and pulling the baby up and out and into her lap. “You haven’t met Dawn yet.”

“Say hi, Dawnie,” Charlie says, turning her around so she can see Jo, Sam, Dean, and Cas. Dawn has blue eyes, just like her mother, but, not entirely surprisingly, has almost no hair.

“How old is she?” Jo asks, reaching over and letting Dawn take her finger.

“She’ll be six months next week,” Dorothy says. “Maybe she’ll start growing hair, then, too.”

“This is how we know she’ll be a redhead,” Charlie says, making a rather smug face at her wife across the table.

“Yeah, yeah, your surrogate’s genes are paying off nicely,” Dorothy says, waving a hand at her. “Got my eyes, though.”

“We’ll know in September for sure, won’t we?”

“Charlie picked the sperm donor out as one physically closest to her,” Dorothy says as Charlie turns her attention back to her daughter. “Red hair, green eyes, freckles, et cetera.”

“I have faith in my fellow ginger,” Charlie declares. “Right, Dawnie? You’re gonna be a ginger just like Mommy.”

* * *

“We have to tell them.”

“Like hell we do.”

“Dean, what are you waiting for? The day before the wedding?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

They’re out by the lake, on their spot. Their spot of ten summers, where, surprisingly, no camper or staffer or counselor has ever tried to claim as their own. This is Dean and Cas’ spot. They should get a plaque made.

Dean will break the record if it kills him. Bobby told him there had been a kid in the nineties who made it up to thirteen skips. Dean doesn’t know if the kid was telling Bobby the truth, but he’s going to make it there. So far this afternoon, though, he’s only up to six, sometimes seven.

“Dean, are you even --”

“I don’t even know how to tell them, okay? Do I call them and say, ‘hi parents, guess what, Cas and I are getting married?’”

“Typically, yes, that’s what you do. And then your mother will ask for all the details and beg to be part of the wedding planning, and she’ll probably cry about a million times before the wedding and then she’ll cry some more at the actual ceremony, and then there’s the mother-son dance --”

“Jesus, Cas, are you trying to make me rethink this?” Dean says, turning around. Cas is leaning back on his hands, an absurd pair of red sunglasses perched on his nose. His book is resting, pages down, on his thigh.

“Not rethink,” Cas says, pretending to think hard. “But, an elopement, on the other hand --”

“Jesus, Cas, I thought I was the corrupting influence.” Dean drops to sit next to him, pulling the book off his thigh and dog-earing a page. Cas leans into him for a moment. Dean’s thighs press against his.

“You have to tell them,” Cas says. “They need to know.”

“They’d know if you hadn’t weenied out at graduation,” Dean says, nudging him playfully.

“And then you ‘weenied out’ at dinner,” Cas replies, nudging him back. Dean can hear the air quotes around his phrase.

“Ain’t we a pair,” Dean drawls, sending Cas into a round of laughter, which leads to both of them lying on the ground, laughing, Cas’ head against Dean’s opposite shoulder.

* * *

“Hey, Dean, c’mere.”

For one split second, Dean thinks Sam knows about the engagement. Dean cautiously joins him. The campers nearly run into them in a hurry to get to the food (it’s taco night).

“What’s up, Sammy?”   
“You’ve had the B-fives, right? I mean, this specific group of kids.”

“Yeah, like four years ago.”

“But they know you, right?”

Dean thinks back to the group of ten boys he spent two summers with. They do know him fairly well, if Dean’s being honest. They teased, as ten- and eleven-year-old boys are prone to do, about his and Cas’ relationship, never maliciously, just with a curiosity that came with having an “alternative relationship.” He thinks of the kids who come into the autoshop and are capable of carrying on a conversation with him because they know him.

“Yeah, I guess, why?”

“I think Alfie and that kid Zeke are, like, a thing.”

“What?” Dean looks over at the B-five table. Alfie is sitting on the end, facing them, but he’s talking to a boy who has his back to them, a boy with dark hair and narrow-ish shoulders. It has to be Zeke.

“I think they like each other. They’ve been best friends ever since he started going to camp when they were B-twos. They kinda keep to themselves. Like those two AV guys in your year, Ed and Harry? ’Cept they’re nice to everyone who isn’t them.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Well, you and Cas seemed to work out okay. And you were their age when you got together --”

“We didn’t get together at camp, Sam.” Sam fixes him with a tried-and-true bitchface.

“Basically.”

“I’m not gonna argue about it. What do you want?”

“You and Cas should maybe Charlie-and-Dorothy them or something, I don’t know.”

“I am not calling us fairy gay-fathers. That’s Charlie’s thing.” Sam makes an exasperated noise.

“Fine. Just, a little guidance? Maybe? Zeke’s family is like, weirdly religious, and I just think that they could use some encouragement from someone who’s been there and --”

“Jesus, okay! We’ll talk to them.”

* * *

Dean tells Cas that night about what Sam told him. Cas snorts.

“Fairy gay-fathers?”

“Is that all you can say about the conversation? That I said that?”

“I think it’s nice that he thought to ask on their behalf,” Cas says. “I don’t know why he came to you and not me, but --”

“What? Why?” Cas gives him his skeptical, no-bullshit look. “Come on!”

“Dean, your proposal speech was the most unromantic, least heartfelt thing I’d ever heard.”

“I said I loved you!”

“You said, ‘I love you, man, and I wanna stay with you the rest of our goddamn lives, so say yes.’”

“That wasn’t romantic?” Dean says, making a mock-sad face. He drops down onto the connected mattresses next to Cas.

“For you, yes,” Cas amends, kissing the top of Dean’s head and turning on his side so he can properly snuggle him.

“You’re right, though.”

“About what? You being unromantic? I didn’t mean that you should be more --”

“No, about Sam. Please. If I was too unromantic we would’ve dealt with that long ago.”

* * *

Zeke’s major is woodworking, which Dean is not in charge of, but Benny is. Dean manages to get Benny to trade with him for a Wednesday afternoon. The campers don’t ask too many questions. They know Dean does both and they know that Dean is Bobby’s pretty-much-nephew.

“Yo, Zeke.” Dean settles into the stool next to him. Zeke glances up and back at the box he’s working on constructing.

“Hi, Dean,” he replies. “Am I doing this right?”

“Are the teeth lining up on that there?”

“I think so.”

“Looks good. Listen, Sam was talking to me a few nights ago, he mentioned you and Alfie were having a hard time.” Zeke purses his lips, thinking.

“No, we’re good.”

“You sure?” Dean presses. Zeke nods.

“Yeah, man, we’re good. Why’d he tell you that?”

“He gets concerned like that. I don’t really know. But, y’know, listen, if someone’s bothering you, me or Cas or Sam can help you guys out. You know Cas, right?” Zeke nods again. “’Kay, that’s all. You’re doing great.” Dean nods to the half-constructed box. “Don’t forget to sand it.”

* * *

Dawn Bradbury-Baum spends most of her days in the cool auditorium in Dorothy’s baby carrier, watching, over the lip of it, the dancers and actors on the stage, sometimes flailing a bit. Sometimes she ends up in the bouncer in Charlie’s workshop backstage, where Charlie sews and fits kids in their costumes.

Sometimes, though, she ends up with Cas.

Being one of the youngest in the family, Cas never really got a lot of experience with babies. Anna was born when he was two, and when you’re two, the only way you get to hold the baby is if you yourself are being held. Dawn’s the first baby he’s had any real interaction with.

And he loves her. She loves him, too, which definitely helps, but he really loves having her around. Dorothy doesn’t mind handing her off at all, but is not blind to the fact that Cas is sometimes volunteering with a little too much enthusiasm to take her.

He looks like a goddamn fool, wearing the baby carrier and taking her with him when he takes the photography kids to shoot by the lake, too. when they’re not looking, he’s talking to her, quiet, just to her ears, pointing out things on the lake and around camp. The campers think it’s so adorable, and the older, female campers swoon a little bit at the sight of Head Of Photography Cas With A Baby.

Dean thinks he looks like a goddamn fool, too, until he sits down to dinner and finds Cas with Dawn in his lap and he’s talking to her and playing some kind of clapping game, and, when Dean is sitting down, turns her to look at him, saying, “Say hi to your Uncle Dean,” and the sight of Cas with a baby, who so clearly loves him, just kind of overwhelms Dean for a second.

“I didn’t know you liked babies,” Dean says when he gets a grip on his emotions. Cas shrugs, turning Dawn back around.

“I didn’t either. I think it’s because she’s Charlie and Dorothy’s,” Cas says, thoughtful. “I don’t think I’d like just any baby.”

“What about ours?” Dean asks before he can process what he’s saying. Cas looks up, something that isn’t quite shock on his face.

“What?”

As if on cue, Charlie, Dorothy, Benny, and Aaron appear. Charlie takes her daughter easily from Cas, kissing both her cheeks and settling her on her lap and holding a bottle up to her mouth one-handed.

“Thanks for taking her, Cas,” Charlie says, tipping the bottle back a little when Dawn latches on. “She really likes you, huh?”

“Well, I certainly like her,” Cas says, letting her hold onto his finger and shaking their hands, which makes her smile around the rubber nipple.

“You okay, Dean?” Aaron waves a hand in front of his face. “You’re zoning out, dude.”

* * *

Dean always likes to get to autoshop twenty minutes before the first activity period to open up the workshop and make sure all the tools are where they should be. None of the campers are ever that early, so it also gives him a chance to just be with the cars for a few minutes, alone.

But today, Zeke and Alfie are standing, shifty and slightly embarrassed, by the locked door.

“Hey, kids, what’s up?”

“We wanna talk to you,” Alfie says. He’s changed, grown two feet and his voice has dropped, but that sentence sounds just like B-one Alfie. Dean raises an eyebrow but holds the door open for them. They dart inside, as if they’re afraid someone saw them.

“What’s going on?”

“Zeke told me what you said to him --”

“Only because he said Cas talked to him, too,” Zeke interrupts.

“And we do. Have something. Bothering us.”

“’Kay, hit me,” Dean says, sitting on one of the metal stools and motioning for the boys to sit. Dean watches as Alfie leans ever so slightly towards him, but then straightens. Zeke crosses his arms over himself. Alfie sits on his hands.

“We, um. We, we’re, we --”

“We wanna go out,” Alfie says when Zeke can’t get it out.

“Like, together?”

“Yeah.” Both heads nod, almost in sync.

“Okay, so go out together,” Dean says, waving a hand at them. “Pick a night, have dinner away from your cabin table, sit together at marshmallows, make a night outta it. What’s the issue?”

“His family’s not accepting,” Alfie says.

“It’s not that they’re not accepting,” Zeke interjects. “It’s just that they’re more traditional than the average person and it would take some adjusting.”

“Adjusting,” Dean repeats. Zeke nods. Alfie looks unconvinced. “Okay, boys, here’s the thing. Whether or not you two decide to go out and be boyfriends or whatever is another story entirely when you leave this camp. Cas and I were really fuckin lucky that we met here, because I can guarantee there would not be a Dean-and-Cas like there is now if we hadn’t. We had Charlie and Dorothy as our relationship model. They’re, like, stupidly lucky. I’m not saying that’s what you two are, or even what me and Cas are, but you gotta understand that if you two wanna make something of that, you gotta do it here and now because the real world won’t be as nice to you always like the world here is. So, Zeke, respect to you and your family, but fuck em for the time being. Until you figure out this, anyway.”

Dean doesn’t know where that speech came from, but both boys’ eyes are wide and they look convinced.

“Thanks, Dean,” Alfie says, and he pulls Zeke by the arm up and towards the door. He watches them go.

* * *

Alfie and Zeke hold hands at marshmallows that night. In fact, for the rest of camp, they hold hands. Charlie and Dorothy take up smiling very knowingly at them, which makes both of them blush. Dean and Cas reprimand them, but it doesn’t stop them from giving the boys that look.

“It’s worse than when you two were that age,” Dorothy says with a little too much glee for Dean’s taste. “At least you were sarcastic.”

“It’s a defense mechanism,” Cas says.

“It was funny.”

For some reason, the fact that Dean and Cas are engaged remains the best-kept secret at camp. Maybe it’s because literally only Dean and Cas know about it. They don’t tell anyone, and they don’t wear the rings they bought for each other (they’re in Dean’s toiletry bag, in a zipped pocket). But on the last week, they decide to play a little game.

On Sunday night, still coming down from their respective orgasms, Dean slips out of bed and goes to his toiletry bag and digs out the engagement rings. He gets back into bed and hands his to Cas and holds out his left hand. Without a word, Cas slips the ring onto his finger. Dean does the same for him. They fall asleep wearing them and then when they wake up, they decide not to take them off.

No one at breakfast notices, but Dean’s willing to chalk that up to the fact that no one is really awake at breakfast. They wear them all morning and when they sit down for lunch, Benny raises an eyebrow at them.

“You got somethin’ you wanna --?”

“We’re engaged. We wanna see how long people will take to notice,” Cas whispers. Benny grins at them.

“Congrats.”

No one else notices at lunch. They make it through the afternoon and almost all the way through dinner before Charlie grabs Dean’s hand rather forcefully to look at the ring.

“What the hell is this?” she demands.

“It’s an engagement ring,” Dean answers around a mouthful of ziti. Charlie gasps and whips her head around to look at Cas’ hand.

It becomes a chorus of, “when the hell did this happen?” and “when were you going to tell us?” and a thousand congratulations. Dean didn’t realize that being engaged would elicit this kind of response. Sam comes over from the B-five table to see what the ruckus is all about, and his eyes nearly pop out of his head when he hears.

“Does Mom know?” he asks, hugging his brother. Jess comes over from the G-three table to hug them, too.

“I don’t know, does Mom know about that?” Dean says, waving two fingers at Sam and Jess, who are now hugging each other at the waist, into the other.

“Not quite,” Sam says, and Jess grins at him.

“She’s gonna lose it.”

* * *

The early morning of the second-to-last day of camp finds Dean and Cas out on their spot.

“I’m gonna do it today, Cas, I can feel it,” Dean insists.

“As long as you feel it,” Cas says, teasing just a little. Dean gets low, holds the rock firmly, and throws.

It skips -- and Dean counts in his head, nodding every time the rock hits the water. Eleven.

“I’m close!”

Dean hunts for a new rock. Cas watches, something on his mind.

“Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“When I was holding Dawn, and we were talking about how I like babies, or don’t like babies, and you said, what about ours, and I -- did you mean it?” Dean looks up at him. Cas is worrying his lower lip between his teeth.

“Yeah, I did.”

“You want kids?”

“Do you?”

“I hadn’t thought about it,” Cas admits, looking down.   “We don’t have to have them, like, the day after the wedding, Cas,” Dean says. Cas laughs.

“I know, I just -- it literally never occurred to me.”

“Is this about your dad?” Dean asks, sitting down next to him. “Because you won’t be like him, Cas. You literally could not be any further from being like him.”

“I know that,” Cas says. “It’s just -- you’re not scared of becoming your parents.”

“Are you kidding? If I turn into my mother, just smother me in my sleep, okay?” Cas starts laughing, hard and real laughter that Dean feels in his soul, the kind of laughter that reminds him of their first summer together.

“Your mom is amazing, Dean,” Cas says when he can breathe again.

“Yeah, yeah. We’ll talk about kids, okay? Not tomorrow, and not for a while, but we will.” Cas nods. “Now kiss me for luck before I kick this record in the ass.”

And Cas does.


End file.
